Stalking Me, Stalking You
by laviecontinue
Summary: Ana has had a crush on Christian Grey ever since seeing him on an interview on TV. He's become her obsession, her dream man. When she finally gets to meet him by taking her friend's place in the interview, what if Christian becomes every bit as taken and obsessed with Ana as she is with him? Two stalkers become the perfect match. Stalker Ana/Christian.
1. Chapter 1

_Hi there,_

 _I'm new to 50 Shades fanfic but I'm a massive fan. I've finally decided to write my own story. I'm new at this, so hopefully it will be okay and something someone will be interested in. Basically, Ana is obsessed with Christian Grey, and as it will turn out, he'll be a bit stalkerish himself. Not sure what you'll think, but I would love to know._

* * *

 _ **Stalking Me, Stalking You**_

 _ **ANA POV:**_

For as long as I can remember, I have always had a little thing for Seattle's most richest, eligible bachelor Christian Grey.

I think it all started when, one night, he was on a live interview on TV for a talk show. He seemed so personable and charismatic, and I was literally glued to every single word he said. Not to mention, he looked so handsome in the interview. When they asked him to clarify whether he was single and he confirmed that he was, I think I was well and truly hooked then. There was just something about him.

Months later, my crush on the man hasn't dwindled any. Kate, my roommate, likes to tease me constantly about it. She says that if only Christian Grey appeared into my life, then I would be happy and no longer single. She likes to call him my husband as an inside joke between us- and God, there are so many times where I wish that were true. Whenever she tries to set me up with a guy because she feels its weird; me, twenty-two, single, in the end she always teases that I'm just saving myself for Christian Grey. And maybe I am?

It's unrealistic, I know. I would never meet him, and if I even _did_ get the chance to, I would probably come across as a total fan-girl, his biggest, weirdest stalker. Plus, he is _way_ out of my league, but a girl can dream, right?

Every time I find out he is going to be in an interview for a magazine or for the Seattle Times newspaper, I always have to get my hands onto it. I've started a collection- a folder, if you will- with various articles and pictures of him, which I like to read in moments when I'm feeling depressed or a little overwhelmed. Something about staring into his deep gray eyes just tends to soothe me and take all my stresses away. If you looked on my Google history, Christian Grey would end up being my most searched.

But I don't think I have any sort of problem, being infatuated with a man I am more than likely never going to meet or have a chance with. I hear it's a real serious problem if it starts interfering with your daily life, and with mine, it really doesn't. I'm not in denial. I can study and focus on doing my assignments for English Lit, which I'm studying at Washington University. I can work part-time at Clayton's hardware store and not have my work suffer due to my obsession. My obsession with Christian Grey doesn't consume my mind or take over my life to the point where I cannot function properly, so it mustn't be that bad, right?

After all, I could always be worse. I could make a pillow and sow a picture of his face onto it to snuggle next to during the night- which I haven't. I could even drive towards where I know he works at his ultra-successful, multi billion-dollar business and camp out on the street like a crazy person, waiting to catch a glimpse of him- but I haven't. I consider my obsession with Christian Grey to be something harmless and it doesn't make me suffer or interfere with my daily life. It's just a hobby. He's just someone I find so inspirational. Okay, and maybe sometimes I feel like I'm in love with him. I feel that if we ever met, if he knew me, he'd see that I'm the girl he's waiting for.

 _I'm the one for him. He just doesn't know it yet._

* * *

My world changed and it seemed as if my dreams were coming true when Kate came home from her journalism course at University, beaming and excited for once.

"Ana, guess what? You _wouldn't believe_ what I get to do for the student paper project! You're going to be _so_ jealous!"

"Jealous about what, Kate? What's happening?"

Her hands were flailing around and her cheeks were flushed; she was that excited. "I get to interview your husband!" Kate always referred to Christian Grey as my husband and, honestly, a part of me, deep down inside, loved it when she did. In my eyes, he was my husband. I'd been committed to him for over eight months, and he didn't even know it.

"What do you mean, interview him?"

"For the student newspaper! I get to write an article on him!"

As understanding slowly sunk into my brain, I grew just as excited as she was. I jumped around on the spot, and we both high-fived each other. "You're right, Kate. I _so am_ jealous!" Then an idea formed, and I felt like I was hyperventilating. "Oh my God, Kate! You have to let me do it!"

"What?"

"You have to let me interview him!"

Her face fell and she cringed. "Ah, I don't know about that, Ana. Your kind of a _bit too_ intense about him!"

"Please!" I was not above getting on my knees and pleading with her. "You know it's been a big dream of mine, meeting him! Spending time with him, seeing him standing right in front of me... I need to be the one!"

Being the greatest friend ever, Kate eventually caved in, allowing me to sit in and do the interview for her instead. Finally, for once, it seemed as if my life was going to go the way I knew it was supposed to go. I would meet Christian Grey, and it would be like love at first sight, and he'd see I'm the perfect one for him.

Or well, if he doesn't see that, I was determined to make him.

* * *

Today is the day I get to interview my husband and I'm both excited and nervous. I just hope I won't put my foot into it and say something a bit too crazy and forward, but Kate assures me that if I stick to the written notes and questions she has for him, then it will all work out smoothly.

It still feels so surreal to think that I am accomplishing one of my dreams, all thanks to Kate. I'll be meeting Christian Grey, something I have admittedly fantasized about in private. Only unfortunately for me, my plans are already failing badly when I try to straighten my hair. I want to look so good for him, so presentable, but since I went to sleep with my hair wet last night, it refuses to straighten properly.

I need to look great for him so he sees I'm the one, that we're destined to be together. But it can't be that way if my hair looks like crap.

By the time I'm done, I find Kate sitting on the couch. I stare at her unhappily in my clothes and with my hair.

"You look good," she assures me, but I don't believe her.

"No, I don't, Kate. My hair looks terrible."

"It's fine, Ana! God, relax!"

"I just need him to like me," I tell her desperately. "I've been dreaming about this for months. Fantasizing about it, in fact. I've been wanting to meet him in the flesh for so long that I just... I won't be able to handle it if it doesn't go the way I planned!"

She tells me to sit on the couch next to her, and I do. Kate looks almost sympathetic when she takes both my hands in hers. I can feel a speech coming on. "Um, this is just an interview for the student paper, Ana," she says, like she wants to calm me. "Not to be mean and I know you're such a lovely girl and he'd _be crazy_ not to like you, but... if it doesn't work out that way, don't take it so badly, okay? Reality is that it's just an interview for the student paper, it isn't a date. So if it doesn't turn out the way you envisioned it would, meeting the guy, it won't be the end of the world."

"I know, Kate."

"Good. I just don't want you to get your hopes up."

 _But how can I not get my hopes up?_

"I bet he's so much better looking in person, if possible," I say to her dreamily. "And when he sees me, he'll just be like... bleh." I know I'm nothing special, but I also know how perfect we would be together, in my eyes.

"Well, it's just for an interview, okay? It's not like you two are walking down the aisle together so please don't expect too much."

"Okay. I won't. I won't even say anything about my crush on him, I promise. I'll just act all... cool and professional."

"Good girl. You won't set yourself up for disappointment that way." She turns to look at the time on the clock. "Shoot, you better go or else you'll be late. Take my car." She hops up from the couch, finding her car keys. Then she hands me her little machine to record the interview. "Don't forget to record it, okay? You just press the round record button. It's easy." Little does Kate know, is that I'll probably steal the recording later once she's finished with transcribing the interview so that I can listen to Christian Grey talk while I drift off to sleep.

She gives me the paper with all the questions I need and then I'm ready to go, shivering with excitement. _I cannot believe I'm actually meeting the man of my dreams in person today!_

* * *

"I'm here to see Mr Grey. Anastasia Steele for Katherine Kavanagh."

Already, I feel anxious when I stand in front of the reception desk, the knowledge that he is somewhere in the building at the forefront of my mind. In a few minutes, we'll be near each other. We'll be close, and he most likely will touch my hand when I shake it. After he does, I know I'll never wash my hand ever again.

"Miss Kavanagh was expected for the interview, but you'll need to sign in here, Miss Steele. Then you'll have to take the elevator over there on the right up to the twentieth floor."

I sign my name, my hand shaking.

Then I find the elevator and take it up to the twentieth floor, my heart pounding. I haven't felt this nervous in a long time. I just want it to go so well, and I'll feel really disappointed with myself and frustrated if it doesn't.

Once the elevator door opens onto the floor, I find another desk where a woman is sitting behind it.

"Miss Steele, if you could just sit yourself into the waiting area over there. Mr Grey will be with you shortly."

I find a place to sit, looking outside the windows, trying to distract myself as a way to calm my nerves. The view this high up is truly beautiful. I just need to focus on what I'm mainly here for; It's for Kate, to do the interview. Not to gush or proclaim my love for the man. I need to steer clear from mentioning any of it; My crush on him that's lasted over eight months, how I collect articles and pictures of him and stash them away in a folder. How I fantasize about him. How Kate refers to him as my husband.

"Miss Steele," the woman behind the reception desk calls, bringing me out of my thoughts. "Mr Grey is ready to see you now."

 _Okay, oh shit. Here it goes._

I stand, moving towards the only door on the floor that I am assuming is his office. I stop, glancing back at the woman uncertainly. She smiles.

"There's no need to knock. Just go in."

I push open the door, my heart rate increasing. Surely enough, there he is, my husband, in the flesh. He stands from his chair to greet me. He is so much taller than I was prepared for because photo-shoots can't properly show someone's height. I'm startled by how so much better he looks in person. So attractive and handsome and taller than I realized, dressed in a tailored blue suit, with a white business shirt. He smiles at me and god, this feels like some fantasy all inside my head. It doesn't seem real somehow. Hell, his eyes are even a more piercing gray up close. The photos were lying on how amazing his eyes are. He looks so much better than in all those photo-shoots from the articles I have of him in my collection. I like him much, _much_ better in person. It's where he belongs, standing right in front of me.

"Miss Kavanagh," he says, extending a hand out towards me. I'm so lost in staring into his eyes that I don't even care that he thinks I'm Kate. "I'm Christian Grey. You're here for the interview?" His voice, it's so compelling and lovely. I could listen to him talk all day.

"Um, no actually. I'm Anastasia Steele. Something came up with Miss Kavanagh, so I agreed to fill in for her. I'm her substitute."

"Oh. I see."

I place my hand in his, and we shake. His hand feels so nice and right holding mine, his grasp strong and confident. _Yep, definitely not washing my hand ever again._

We end up shaking hands for longer than necessary, which is partly my fault. I just don't want to let his hand go. I want to feel it everywhere on me, but I know I can't. Total wishful thinking. I forcefully pull my hand back, embarrassed.

"I've been waiting for this moment for such a long time," I gush before I can stop myself. I feel heat rise to my cheeks and around my neck area. _God, I'm doing the one thing I swore I wouldn't do._

His brows furrow and he looks confused. "You have?"

"Meeting you, I mean," I breathe breathlessly. God, it's like my mouth isn't obeying what I want it to do. Stop, stop talking, my head is screaming, yet it's like my mouth and voice are their very own separate entity. "I just... I find you to be so inspirational and I'm, um..." _I want to be your wife._ "I'm a _huge_ fan. I consider you to be one of my role models in life, in fact. I just really find your work ethic so inspiring and how you donate to multiple charities as something so generous of you. You're just so..." I trail off, pressing my lips together to stop myself from fangirling.

 _Handsome._

 _My fantasy man. My future husband._

God, what am I doing? Kate will be so angry. I had promised her that I would keep myself in check.

To my relief, he smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling so I know that the smile is genuine and not forced as if he's thinking secretly that I'm nuts, and it's like my heart is bursting in my chest. He doesn't seem to mind my gushing at all. "Then thank you. That's... very nice to hear." He clears his throat loudly, gesturing with a finger to his desk. "Shall we sit?"

"Um, yes. Sure. We probably should sit, shouldn't we?"

 _Your going to be my husband. Yes, I know that sounds slightly creepy of me, but it's true._

 **Sooo what did you think? It's going to get a bit crazy- crazy as in both of them will think its perfectly fine to spy on each other, break into houses, stealing panties and trophies, etc. Ana will be stalking Christian and he'll be stalking her, so they'll practically be a match made for each other. I would love to know your thoughts on whether it is something worth continuing? This will be both Ana and Christian POV :) Most likely M rated too for lemons**


	2. Chapter 2

_Wow, thank you so much for the nice reviews and response I have received. Was not expecting that haha! This story is going to get crazy, but hopefully you'll enjoy it! Thank you!_

* * *

 _ **Chapter Two**_

He sinks down into the leather recliner chair behind his large dark mahogany wood desk while I sit in one of the lone, stark-white chairs in front of him. They say it can be considered threatening and confrontational if you stare someone in the eyes for longer than ten seconds, so I count down mentally inside my head before averting my eyes quickly, gathering the paper Kate bothered to type up neatly with her laptop with the interview questions.

Then I remember the recorder and I fumble to switch it on, my hands shaking. Somehow I can feel him staring at me- not that I mind. I've daydreamed about his gray gaze staring at me longingly over the months plenty of times, but now that it's reality, it is a little more daunting than I first counted on it being.

"So does this mean that you are studying journalism as well?" he asks, and when I bring my eyes up to look at him, I see that, just as predicted, he's watching me, his head slightly cocked to the side. His eyes are bright with... intrigue?

"Oh, no. My best friend Kate Kavanagh, she's the aspiring journalist, not me. I'm just studying English Lit."

He rests one elbow on the arm of his chair, bringing up a hand to stroke around his chin with his fingers. His eyes narrow in confusion. "Then why are you here? Why are you the one interviewing me and not Miss Kavanagh herself?"

 _Because I wanted to finally meet you. I wanted to be in close proximity to you, just like it should be. You and me, together._

For a second there, I suspect he is saying indirectly between the lines that he doesn't want me to be here, that he would prefer Kate to be here instead. My heart deflates as if he's stabbed at it viciously with a pin. But then I pick myself up just as quickly. He's probably just curious.

"Well, Kate came down with a sudden bout of the flu," I explain, something that I know for a fact is a sheer lie. No, Kate doesn't have the flu. She's just a wonderful friend that knows how much I wanted to meet him in person and about how much of a crush I have on him. She knew she had to let me do this. "She was coughing and wheezing pretty badly when she woke up this morning. I'm almost certain it's really contagious, so we both decided it was probably best that I fill in for her instead." I want to leave it at that, yet what I say next just comes tumbling out, maybe stupidly, "After all, the great Christian Grey can't afford to catch the flu now, can he?"

 _Oh, god. Stop, Ana. Stop right now, it's insufferable. Focus._

"Okay," I begin, clearing my throat. "So this is for the special graduation issue of the student newspaper."

"Yes, I'm well aware. I'm giving the commencement address at this year's ceremony."

"You are?" I don't know why I'm so surprised the way I am or why I'm asking that, no less. I already know, of course. Just like I know a lot of things about him already. "I mean, um, I know that already." God, this is really not going well at all. We were supposed to have this instantaneous connection when we met. All I feel, is just awkward. I find the first question on the list, clearing my throat again before saying, "Okay. Question Number One: You are very young to have amassed an empire. To what do you owe-"

"-To what do I owe my success?" I glance over at him, his eyes shining with irritation. I know exactly the reason why he is so irritated the way he is. He already answered a question identical to this in the December's edition of GQ magazine, where he was voted Sexiest Single Man of the Year. Pity Kate couldn't have been more adventurous and unique with her questions. "Seriously? That's one of your questions?"

"Yep, and for the record, it isn't exactly my question. It's Kate's questions." I smile at him sympathetically. "I guess it's like déjà vu for you then, huh? I know you answered a very similar question to this in last year's issue of GQ when you were voted Sexiest Single Man of the Year?"

He rubs his fingers around his chin for a moment, his eyes burning into mine. "How did you know that I answered a question similar to that last year? That I was voted Sexiest Single Man of the Year last year by GQ fashion magazine?"

Oh, shit. Great. Now he's going to realize that, for the past eight months, with every article and photo-shoot I've added to my collection, how I've read those articles more than seven times. I practically know each word he has said by heart.

It takes me a second to figure out how to cover my ass on that one. But when it comes to me, it sounds completely natural and true, "I did some research earlier before coming here today. I guess you can say that I'm very... well-researched on you." _Well-researched is a polite and non-creepy way of saying that I'm practically obsessed with you, that I'm your biggest fan._ "Onto the next question then. Do you have any interests outside of work?"

"I enjoy various physical pursuits."

I consult my memory, remembering in one article how he said playing musical instruments was one of those hobbies- though he never elaborated on what that musical instrument was in particular. It isn't exactly a question on Kate's list, but I'm sure she'll be happy if I can get him to open up a little. "I read in an interview that you did about a month ago for the Seattle newspaper that you also enjoyed playing a musical instrument? That your very... musical, though you didn't elaborate on what that was?"

He sighs loudly, and I get the sense that I'm boring him. You don't get that impression from in the interviews you read- and trust me, I've read them all- but I can tell speaking about himself is something he finds uncomfortable. I can't imagine why; He could tell me all his deepest, darkest secrets, things about himself that he considers boring and dull, and I still would be wrapped up in every single thing he says. "Yes, I do like to play music on my own time as a hobby as well, Miss Steele."

"And what musical instrument might that be?" Bongo drums? With such gorgeous, masculine hands, he seems like the bongo drums playing type of man.

"The piano," he admits, surprising me. "I started learning when I was around seven." He gestures with his chin towards the page of questions in my lap. "Is that one of the questions your friend wanted to know about for the article in the student newspaper?"

"Oh, no." I bite down on my bottom lip with my front teeth, my cheeks burning with heat. "That question was all mine. I was just very... intrigued on knowing what instrument it was that you played, seeing as you never properly explained which one it was in the article." I hope to God that my passion for him isn't showing. I'm just all things passionate and dedicated when it comes to Christian Grey.

"Well, is there anything else you would like to know about me? Anymore questions that you are personally interested in knowing about on me that your friend Miss Kavanagh hasn't written down?"

Oh, boy. Where would I even begin? Something tells me we wouldn't have the time to talk about all the things I am interested in knowing about him, because I have plenty of them... _What kind of woman are you interested in dating? Do you have a preference- blonde, brunette, or red? When was the first time you had your heart broken? Favorite sexual position? Will you be willing to marry me and father my children?_

Of course, I can't ask any single one of those questions unfortunately. I would more than likely seem unbalanced and crazy to him. Instead, I keep it safe. "Actually, I read online a tabloid recently about you."

"Oh? And what was that?"

"Well, according to a gossip website, you attended a Taylor Swift concert recently. I think it was one or two days ago that you did? Anyway, they reported afterwards that you had gone out to dinner with her and that the two of you were now dating? Is that true?" The instance I read it, I knew it was a fabrication. It just couldn't be true. He couldn't be dating Taylor Swift, because he's supposed to be dating me. She'd just only write songs about him and slander his name afterwards.

He pauses from rubbing his fingers around his bottom lip, his gray eyes lighting up with amusement. "I did attend a Taylor Swift concert recently. Yes, that part of it _is_ correct."

I feel like someone is squeezing down on my chest at his words, my blood boiling. _So it's true? He is dating her?_ Suddenly I feel like the Bunny Boiler in Fatal Attraction. I've never sympathized with that character more than ever than I am right now, because I know exactly how she feels when the object of her devotion is not taking her seriously. _No, he can't! He's not allowed to date her! He's only allowed to date me!_

"Oh. So you _are_ dating her then?

"No, that part of it _is_ incorrect. I didn't go out to dinner with her afterwards, but I did meet her backstage."

"Why's that?" I breathe out quietly, unable to stop the bitterness rising in my tone. "Is that because you think she's so attractive and talented? You want to date her so you asked specifically to meet her backstage?"

"No, I'm not a fan of hers. I'm not really into...mainstream music much nowadays. It's my younger sister that is a huge fan of hers, not me. I took her there as an early birthday present. I brought us backstage passes so she could meet her favorite singer and everything."

Oh, yes. I suppose I should have already known. He has two siblings, according to his Wikipedia account. He's a middle child, with his sister Mia being the youngest. He was adopted at an early age.

I scan the interview questions again, picking the first one I can find, without much thought into it. "Are you gay, Mr Grey?" The blood drains from my face as I re-read the question, mortified as it leaves my lips. Yep, that's definitely one of Kate's questions. _Oh, my God. How could she do this to me? She would have known I have been dreaming to get this chance for months. And besides, of course he isn't gay. He's going to be my husband in the not too distant future. He cannot be gay!_

"Is that one of your questions that you want to know about me?" he asks, and I can tell he's offended. "Is that what you gathered from your research in advance? The possibility that I might be gay, Miss Steele?"

"Oh, no. I just... this is one of Kate's questions, not mine. _Of course_ I know you aren't gay, Mr Grey."

"Well, there you have it. No, I'm not gay. I love women." _But you're not allowed to love women. You are only allowed to love one woman. Me._

There's a sudden knock on the door, and the woman from outside, his assistant, appears. "Excuse me for interrupting, Mr Grey. But your next meeting is in the conference room in under ten minutes."

"Well, we're not done just yet," he says, quite obviously dismissing her. "Tell them I'll be with them shortly."

"Yes, sir." She leaves, shutting the door behind her gently. Christian returns his attention to me, eyeing me speculatively.

"Now that we've talked about me, how about you?

It's difficult not to gape. "Pardon?"

"Tell me about you. I want to hear about you, Miss Steele."

I've fantasized about this very thing happening, I won't lie. About me meeting him and him turning the tables around, showing his interest in me. He must feel it too then. He must feel this beautiful, intense connection we have together. I mustn't be the only one, and I've been feeling that way for months. We're meant to be together. But now that it's happening, I find it difficult to know what to say.

"Um, there really isn't anything all that interesting about me." What can I say? Obviously I can't tell him the truth; That I've been smitten with him the moment I saw him being interviewed on live television, that I know we are destined to be together. I would only be coming off too strong and no doubt, he'd call security on me and they'd escort me out of his building.

"Well, you said to me that you're studying English Literature. Tell me: was it Charlotte Bronte, Jane Austen or Thomas Hardy, who made you fall in love with literature?" He has a way of making you feel so important, as though you're the only person left in the universe. This is like a dream come true.

"Hardy. It was Thomas Hardy."

"Funny," he mutters softly, his forehead creasing. "I would have bet on Jane Austen." He rises from his chair suddenly, and I realize our time together has come to an end. It's disappointing, really. When I imagined this, I always saw us talking for hours on end. It's barely been fifteen minutes. "I'm going to have to call this short," he explains when I stand as well, clicking the recorder off. "I have a very important meeting in the conference room."

"Um, yes. I heard your assistant."

"I'll walk you out." He strides forward, holding the door open for me, every bit the gentleman as I fantasized he would be. "I hope you got everything you needed?"

"Pretty much, yes." _Except for your cellphone number so that we can call each other and talk some more..._

Christian presses the button on the elevator, standing waiting with me until it arrives. Once it does on the floor, he turns to look at me with one of his genuine eye-crinkling smiles again, and he holds out his hand to me. I shake it, though not as long as I had the first time fortunately, though the impulse is still there as strong as ever.

"Thank you for your time," I manage to say, stepping into the elevator.

"Anastasia," he says in farewell, the first time I've heard him say my first name, and in his voice, it's heaven, to die for. I want to hear him say my name in the throes of passion, when I make him come.

 _Anastasia, fuck. Give it to me._ I find myself relieved he isn't capable of reading my mind, because I picture him then. What he would look like ejaculating, all because of me, and my cheeks burn.

"Christian," I say back, the name feeling perfectly right on my tongue.

I turn to look at him one last time, finding him staring at me. _I have no doubts whatsoever that we'll meet again very soon,_ I try to say telepathically through my mind to his. His expression back at me while he lifts his brows slightly in what seems a rather challenging way, though it may just show how maybe deluded I am, seems to say to me, _Count on it._

But then the elevator doors close and our moment is gone.

 **Christian POV:**

 _Wow. I was not counting on that happening._

I stand around near the elevator aimlessly after Miss Steele has left, scratching my forehead with my fingers. I had been preparing for this moment all week when Andrea, my personal assistant, had given me the details that a student from Washington University had to do an article for the student newsletter on me. I was expecting many things, but Miss Steele was not one of them. What a peculiar young woman.

I need to know more about her. And by _more_ , I mean _every single_ fucking thing. Her social security number. Her current residential address, her phone number. Email address. Twitter account name. Hell, even her credit card statement with all of the transactions and purchases she's made over the week while grocery shopping. _Everything._

"Andrea," I bark to my assistant while striding back towards my office. "Get Welch immediately on the line."

"Um, but sir? Your meeting? Everyone's already been waiting in the conference room for a little over ten minutes?"

"I don't care. You deal with it and tell them I'll be in there in half an hour. Just get me Welch on the line. _Now_."

I return to my desk, staring at the chair where she had been previously sitting in before she left. I cannot believe it, just how well-researched she was about me. She seemed to have been strangely up-to-date on my entire whereabouts this week, particularly with how I had went to a Taylor Swift concert just the night before. How the fuck can she know that? Not to mention she seemed to remember every single thing I said in my interviews for various newspaper articles and fashion magazines. What was this girl's deal?

My phone buzzes. "Mr Welch is on the line for you, Mr Grey. Also, I'll let you know that I explained to the clients in the conference room that you're being held down and they agreed to wait the extra half an hour until your arrival in, sir."

"Good. Put Welch through."

"Yes, Sir."

"Welch, I need a background check on an Anastasia Steele. Preferably by the end of the day."

Since I have a half hour free now, I boot up my laptop on my desk, searching around the wide world web for a Facebook and Twitter account belonging to Anastasia Steele. To my surprise, thanks to the internet, it doesn't take long. If I narrow the search down to an Anastasia Steele in the Seattle-Washington area, it isn't so difficult to find. In about ten seconds of browsing Twitter accounts, _bingo_ , I find her.

She has a photo of herself, a selfie with another girl with blonde hair, both of them wearing the same matching red lipstick, their faces pressed together so that they can both squeeze into the picture. She has gorgeous clear blue eyes, I'll give her that. Something about them made me feel naked and exposed, the way she'd stare at me. She was fucking intense and, honestly, there's something about her that I find myself liking.

 _I'm a shy dreamer who's aspiration is to be a writer. Thomas Hardy rocks my socks. So does CG, my future hubby._

"CG her future hubby?" I read out in confusion, immediately aware that CG is my exact same initials. What? Is this girl nuts about me or something? I scroll down her page, trying to find out if there's anymore revealing information.

According to her page, she just sent out a tweet barely two minutes ago, basically after just getting out of my office:

 _Meeting the man of your dreams and having him stare directly into your eyes. SHIT JUST GOT REAL._

And another one from last night:

 _OMG, so nervous. Who would have thought this would be reality? Man of my dreams, COME AT ME!_

I pore over the rest of her Tweets, feeling even more aggravated by the second. Her Tweets aren't very decipherable and she seems to know perfectly well how to reveal the smallest amount of information in them so that they aren't properly understood. This girl, at this point, is a sheer mystery to me. But I have full confidence that, once Welch sends in the background check, that I'll get everything I need to know on Miss Steele.

If not, I suppose I can easily just stalk it out of her. She definitely seems like someone I _need_ to know.

 **Hope this one was okay? Haha, as I said, it's crazy. And probably silly. I'd love to know what you think? :) Thank you! What do you think of this Ana so far? A little unstable or just simply passionate about Christian?**


	3. Chapter 3

_**Thank you so much. Hope you enjoy this one. :)**_

 _ **Chapter 3**_

Once I slink into the drivers seat of the car after Tweeting, I plop the recorder and the interview questions sheet of paper on the empty passengers seat beside me, letting my head fall back. If anyone witnessed the way I'm grinning, they'd think I'm flat-out crazy. Or that I'd just had a quickie with someone. I'm probably glowing. I feel high, like I'm floating on a heart-shaped cloud of well-being and happiness.

"Holy shit," I say out loud to the steering wheel, then I have to laugh. "Holy _fucking_ shit. It just happened!"

Once my heart slows down to its steady, usual rhythm, I assume it's safe to make the drive back to the apartment. As it turns out, not quite. My head is too distracted, and my mind keeps wandering, which does not make for a safe and cautious driver. I'm so unbelievably ecstatic that I _finally_ got to meet Christian Grey, the man I've been crushing on for the past eight months. It was beyond all expectations, and he was _everything_ I had hoped for. Okay, well, maybe even slightly _more._

He was just so real and he touched my hand, we had _skin on skin_ contact. My hand that he shook is going to get pretty grotty real quickly because, no exaggeration, I am not washing it ever again. Not even after going to the bathroom.

I giggle to myself again, and then wonder when it is that we will meet each other again. Surely he felt the instantaneous connection we had together. I mean, the chemistry was to the roof, sexually and intellectually. I find myself wondering if he'll end up calling me, then I realize with some sadness that he could never, because he doesn't have my number. I never gave him it because he never asked for it, duh. But just because he never asked, it doesn't mean he isn't interested, right?

When I get in, I find Kate sitting on the couch, listening to her IPod with her earphones in. She yanks them out the instance she spots me coming in, her expression both immediately sympathetic and hopeful.

"Hey. How did it go?"

There are no words possible to describe it and I feel as if I'm still having an out-of-body experience, so she gives me a minute to recoup while I fall down onto the couch next to her, breathing heavily.

"Everything okay?" Her eyes scan my face apprehensively. "Oh, shit, Ana. You look disappointed? I'm sorry. Did it not go as well as you'd hoped? Was he faking it in all those YouTube video interviews that you've watched repetitively over the months? He wasn't as down-to-earth?"

Finally, I slip up, grinning widely. Kate leans over to slap me on my knee.

"God, Ana! What a way to freak me out!"

"Kate, it went _so perfectly_ ," I gush to her, handing her the mini disc recorder and the paper with her questions. "It was everything I'd hoped it would be. Well, he was. He was down-to-earth and so much better looking in person. And the immediate connection between us, it was so intense and instant!"

"Uh-huh." I know she's not really listening, because she's too busy rewinding the tape on the mini disc to start playing it from the start so she can begin transcribing the interview. "So did meeting him knock him down on the pedestal a little? Are you still crushing on him big time?"

"I think, now that we've met, it's just made it so much realer and clearer, Kate. I can see how perfect we'd truly be for each other now. Meeting him only just served to solidify that."

Kate winces a little at my words while fastening her earphones back into her ears, listening to the interview. I know she doesn't feel the same way about Christian and I, but I _know_ it's true.

Kate just doesn't understand. She hasn't experienced a magical, instant connection with a guy before.

* * *

A week goes past since interviewing my dream man and _nothing_. Nothing happens. Not even a phone call- but hey, was I really expecting him to? He doesn't have my number, after all. I've just felt so depressed and as if I'm a zombie extra for the TV show The Walking Dead. This week has been real hard to get through.

I've begun to doubt myself. Perhaps it was all inside my head? That magical connection between us? Maybe I really am just this crazy, deluded fan girl? Maybe I was expecting too much and I got my hopes up, just like Kate was expecting I would have?

I had a dreadful dream last night. It was so vivid that I woke up in the middle of it, with tears actually rolling down my face and a hollow ache in my chest. In the dream, I found myself at an airport and Christian Grey was there. I was calling out his name, and he was wearing a grey hoodie and sunglasses, going incognito, though I recognized him straight off. As it turned out, so did a million other girls. To cut a long dream short, I got trampled over by a stampede of other fan-girls crazy for him. Even since waking this morning, the dream has stuck with me.

The way I feel about him shames me now. I know I shouldn't be feeling this way, so cut up over a dream. I just feel so rejected and devastated that I haven't heard from him ever since interviewing him, which is pathetic. I mean, I _knew_ I was out of his league. I'm just another normal, everyday girl that interviewed him apparently. I'm not any different from those female journalists or talk-show hosts. And that's hardest of all to come to terms with.

In a way I know that will make me feel better and get me out of my slump, I get changed into my gym track pants, a baggy hoodie, and my trainers. I always go for runs whenever I can, because exercise seems to clear my head. Clearing my head is definitely now something that I need, especially after how terrible and hurt I feel.

After tying up my shoelaces and putting my hair up, I limber up, doing some stretches before heading out the front door of the apartment with my IPod. I slip the earphones in, do a few squats on the front steps, then set off into a light run, Beyonce's Crazy In Love blaring in my ears.

 **Christian POV**

I have a meeting in an hour, yet I take the time instead to follow up on a few emails that I missed over the weekend. I discover I have one from my little sister, sent yesterday to my work account, declaring me best brother in the world and thanking me again for taking her to the concert to see Taylor Swift and for giving her the chance to meet her idol. Then there's mostly some other boring shit, most likely spam, that I don't bother reading.

Instead I open a new page, clicking on the bar tool where I saved Anastasia Steele's Twitter page for easy repeat viewing. In barely two seconds, I'm on her page. I sigh loudly when I realize she hasn't Tweeted anything new since meeting me that morning when she came in for the interview.

Then I click onto her Facebook page, which I had luckily managed to track down. I click onto her pictures, flicking through them. Weirdly enough, I've been doing this every morning once getting to work ever since meeting Miss Steele when she came in to interview me.

I don't know what the fuck I'm doing, really. All I know, is that I get some strange enjoyment out of it; In secretly following her Tweets and perusing through her Facebook photos. Maybe that just says I'm a pervert? But excuse me, if I don't enjoy being a pervert when it comes to this peculiar young woman. Something about her fascinates me, though what that something is, I can't be sure. It's like I can't get her out of my head, and in staring at slideshows of her photos, I was hoping that if I analysed her long enough, then I would figure out just what that something was.

There's one photo that is a particular favorite of mine, and it's a picture of her in a bright yellow bikini at the beach that clashes wonderfully with her pale, flawless skin. That blonde friend of hers that was on her main Twitter photo is in it as well; both of them posing for the selfie, a full body shot.

I had even considered chopping her friend out of the photo and using the image of Miss Steele in the bikini as a background wallpaper on my laptop, but then I realized that would be pretty fucking weird of me. Not to mention slightly disturbing. Then again, I _do_ see a therapist regularly. I'm, by all accounts, a pretty fucked-up, shady individual. Dr Flynn _did_ say that I have an addictive personality, bordering on Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I've always had this tendency to get a _little too_ obsessed with things, I go through random phases. When I was around ten years old, I had a fixation on learning various piano compositions. I wanted to be like Mozart, Liberace, and Beethoven so I played the piano day and night. Now, my latest fixation seems to be on Miss Steele, a real life woman.

Welch had came through, sending me a background check on her. She was born on September 10, 1989. I found out where she lives, that she is in an apartment in Vancouver, and I've been seriously contemplating on taking a few days off and booking myself one of the best rooms in the Heathman Hotel so that I'm closer to where she lives. Making a few drive-by's past where she lives sounds very appealing to me.

Also, I found out courtesy of her background check ( _Thank you Welch, knew I could always depend on you, fucke_ r), that she's currently employed at Clayton's Hardware Store while she studies at Washington University majoring in English Literature, as she mentioned. I'm seriously contemplating driving past there, too. Maybe even hiring out a car with tinted windows and parking there for the day, watching her through the windows while she works.

After all, I firmly believe that the best way to get to know someone is by observing their every movement. Some may consider that stalking, but I prefer to call it and think of it as showing a healthy interest in someone's life.

Before I chicken out, I decide, _Fuck it. Why the hell not?_

I get my assistant Andrea on the other line. Andrea usually deals with not only arranging my monthly work schedule, but setting me up in the best hotel rooms and accommodation for conferences away from the office.

"Yes, Mr Grey?" She answers on the first ring, knowing fair well that I won't tolerate it if she doesn't answer my calls as soon as possible. "Is there something I can help you with, Sir?"

"I'll need you to book me into the Heathman Hotel for a couple of days. Make sure its the room with the jet-spa."

"Um, okay. But is there a reason that you-" I hang up on her, staring at the photo of Miss Steele in her bikini again. There's a certain smug, daring way that she's smiling at the camera in this particular photo that makes me feel like untying her bikini top. Then I feel like bending her over in the sand, gagging her with said bikini top, and spanking the fuck out of her.

And _boom_. Just like that, I'm thinking of the delicious sound the smack would make into the air as I spank her bare ass cheeks with my palm and, already, I'm hard. Usually I don't just get hard for anybody. This has to mean something special, right?

 **This is basically setting the scene for the next chapter, where the real thing begins. Hope it wasn't boring but a lot will happen next chapter. :) Thank you!**


	4. Chapter 4

**_Thank you so much, hope you enjoy this one :p_**

* * *

 ** _Chapter Four_**

 _ **Christian POV:**_

Everything goes according to plan, thanks to Andrea being reliable as always.

By the time Wednesday comes, I take the long drive to Portland, Oregon, and arrive at the Heathman to stay for four days, in one of the signature suites. I get one of the best rooms, the Deluxe King room, on the forth floor with a balcony looking out over downtown Portland and Broadway Street. Just as I told Andrea, it also comes with the jet-spa, as well as a king-sized bed and a fully stocked private bar. This is one of the many perks of being who I am; It means I get to stay in luxury accommodation from time to time.

Unfortunately, my time here isn't going to be just for a vacation or luxury. No, I've got business to do, of the Anastasia Steele kind. I arrive at the hotel at around eleven thirty in the morning after picking up my ride that Andrea arranged for me for the four nights, a rental black Jaguar XF with an inbuilt GPS system and tinted windows.

Firstly, I get settled in, carrying up my laptop case and phone charger to the room while a porter carries my suitcase up with all my other shit. He shows me into my room, and I dismiss him with an extremely generous tip of one hundred dollars. After thanking me profusely and kissing my ass, he finally leaves me in peace. I set up my laptop and hook my phone into the charger, immediately checking my emails. I find the background check Welch sent through, and I write down Anastasia Steele's residential address. She lives in an area I am not all that familiar with, in Vancouver, but that's why GPS navigation devices were invented in the first place, weren't they?

I check up on her Twitter and Facebook page- as is quickly becoming a regular habit of mine. For the past week, I've been probably checking both social media accounts over fifty times already.

I see that she has added a new photo to her Facebook page; A picture of her making a peace sign with her middle finger and index finger held up to the camera. I think she's on her bed, her head resting on the pillow behind her and her dark brown hair strewn out in all directions as she holds her phone up into the air to take the selfie. She's smiling at me ( _well, her phone camera, but it feels like its me_ ) wearing that red tinted lipstick again _(I'm learning a pattern here; She likes wearing red lipstick, but can I really fucking blame her? Red lipstick rings on my cock..._ ), her blue eyes heavy-lidded in a way that tells me she has more than likely just woken up when she decided to take the picture. _A good morning selfie_.

"Good morning to you too, Miss Steele," I mutter to her picture as if she can hear me. "We'll be meeting again very, _very_ shortly."

Then I accidentally click onto something and I'm being redirected to this blonde chick's Facebook page that always seems to be in every photo with her. I realize I'm on her friend's page now. So this is Katherine Kavanagh, the girl who was supposed to do the interview with me for the student newsletter but she was sick. This girl, she isn't anything all that special in my eyes, but I can see Anastasia obviously thinks the world of her, fuck knows why. Also, Anastasia writes on her statuses a lot.

 _Katherine Kavanagh: Anyone tried the green smoothie diet LOL? Trying to do it at home with the bestie now for a few days. Results anyone? Can you REALLY lose forty pounds in two days?_

I read Miss Steele's comment straight beneath the status:

 _Anastasia Steele: Um, Kate, it isn't possible for you to lose FORTY pounds. OMG, even if you could, you'd literally be nonexistent, girl. Your gorgeous the way you are, I keep saying! Plus, I bail out already after this mornings smoothie. Trying to get through English Lit class with a bloated and painful stomach, SOMEONE KILL ME! LOL!_

Oh, dear. What the fuck is with women going on fad diets these days? Miss Steele, you don't need to go on a diet. Green smoothie diets are unnecessary. You say that your friend is gorgeous the way she is, well, look at you, Miss Steele. You're even more gorgeous.

There's another one, written on her friend's wall by Anastasia herself. It's annoyingly cryptic, something I don't quite understand, and the fact that I can't, it irritates the fuck out of me:

 _Anastasia Steele: You know how we joked about CG last night? Well, I did it. I actually looked on EBAY. Am seriously contemplating getting a Mrs CG mug! LOL, is that crazy of me? There is even UNDERWEAR with his FACE on them! Imagine if I met him and we were about to have sex and he actually saw that I had his FACE on my panties OMG._

 _Katherine Kavanagh: Ha ha, totes crazy that you are even considering the underwear with his face on them, Ana! You seriously need to get laid by a REAL man, that's all._

I knew there was a good reason why I didn't jump on the bandwagon and join up to social media. I feel like I'm losing a few brain cells simply by reading this shit. I close down the page, checking my watch. It's now twelve o'clock and I want to get started as soon as humanly possible.

With her address written down, I take it with me, carrying along my jacket in case it gets cold and a few bottles of water. Then I grab the keys and I go, finding my rental car out front of the Heathman in the reserved section where the valet parked it specifically for me.

I put in Anastasia Steele's house address into the GPS navigation device, start the car, and then I'm off, going in the direction the woman tells me to go. It's hard not to marvel on how smooth the Jaguar XF is, not to mention how unlikely it will be that anyone should see me due to the tinted windows.

It takes about thirty minutes to get near the area of where her apartment is, and by the time I get there, I feel dehydrated and thirsty. The woman on the GPS tells me to signal left into a street and then once I do, she announces that I have arrived at my destination. The streets aren't crowded so I find a place to park easily on the opposite side of the street.

I put the car into park, grabbing a bottle of water and drinking a few gulps down while looking around, trying to find the right house. Surely enough, it is straight across the road from where I've parked.

Where she lives is nothing all that special; It's an old brownstone, with hedges around the steps to the front door. This is a cheap but safe area, and when I look up into the windows, I see that they have no curtains and you can see all the way in. I see the living room, crowded with different pieces of furniture; An old mustard yellow sofa near the window, a coffee table, a flat-screen TV.

Looking off into the other room, I'd say its definitely someone's bedroom. There are blinds but they are halfway up, throwing the morning light into the room and making it easier to see. There's a bed and an old bookshelf. I'm pretty sure it's Miss Steele's bedroom, but I won't really know until its dark and if she's in there. I decide I'll come back later tonight, maybe at eight or nine o'clock. It isn't like I have anything better to do anyway. Besides, she's either out at the University right now or she's working at the Hardware store.

Using my smartphone, I search for the location of this Clayton's Hardware store. Just to take up a few hours, I decide to drive there before heading back to the hotel.

 **ANA POV:**

Since I don't have to go to my class today, I end up having to do a four hour shift at the hardware store. Paul, one of the staff whose brother owns the store, ended up calling me an hour in advance to ask if I could come in today because apparently its been hectic. And unfortunately, Paul's right. Hectic is an understatement; Customers come in from left, right, and center this morning.

I don't even have the spare time to go sort out some stock that has fallen off the shelf because every time I intend to, someone magically appears near the register, wanting to get served. Who knew renovation would be so popular nowadays? It's like a sudden trend that has caught on and now, here they are, all these house-crazy people, all cooped up and filing into the store for tools like hammers and chainsaws, plumbing tubes, paint, screws and nails. Paul, Patrick and James- all my other staff members and part-timers, all of us are run off our feet.

Usually, in order to get through the day, I let my mind wander off, daydreaming about what I'll do once I get home, or about what new thing I'll Google about my husband to learn about him, like his favorite color or images of him shirtless and just wearing briefs, yet I can't even afford to do that today. It's just far too busy. Christian Grey doesn't even have the time to enter my mind because reality demands me to be back down here, on planet Earth, serving customers.

"Would you like a bag to go with that, sir?" I ask Customer 65 after scanning the prices on his tools, and I swear I've served that many already in a two and a half hour time frame. It's ridiculous.

I force a smile at the man while bagging his items for him, then once he's gone, I sigh loudly as the next customer steps up. The line is long. Really, _really_ long. I glance out the window into the parking lot, feeling envious of all the people getting the chance to take advantage of being outside on such a gloriously sunny day while I'm stuck in here, store-bound.

I see a black car that looks brand spanking new pull up into an empty space, the sun reflecting off it, showcasing it's newness and cleanliness. There's not even a single smear of dirt on the tires. Not even a bit of bird crap on the tinted windows. The door opens and the driver climbs out. A weird, squeaking noise leaves my mouth as the person turns towards the store so that I can see their face.

 _Holy crap. It's my husband, of all people! What the hell is he doing parking in Clayton's Hardware store of all places?_

I try not to panic as I turn back to serve another customer, my heart racing. Surely he isn't coming into Clayton's, is he? He's like a rare, dreamy species that does not belong in a cheap hardware store, of all places. Don't they have expensive, designer-brand hardware stores where he lives? Prada hammers and Calvin Klein nails?

I start to feel really inadequate when he pushes through the doors to step into the hardware store, the little bell attached to the doorjamb jingling his arrival in. Great, my fantasy husband comes into where I work, of all places, and yet I'm dressed like this? In a bright green apron, jeans, and a blue flannel shirt with my hair tied up, looking average and outdoorsy? I didn't even put on any makeup this morning, aside from a coating of red lipstick. Hopefully its still staining my lips and hopefully my hair is still neatly in place.

I spot him out of the corner of my eye as he grabs something off a random shelf near him, then he stands in line. When I let myself peek into his direction, I see him staring at me, in a way where it's like I'm the only person that exists in the room right now, or like he loves me. Or maybe that's just me being hopeful?

By the time it's his turn to be served, I feel as if my mouth has gone dry.

I just _don't understand_ how he can be in here. It's as if he's jumped straight out of a photo-shoot, looking all perfectly tousled hair and crinkled-gray eyes and genuine smile. "Miss Steele? I _thought_ it was you," he says, and it relieves me so much to know that he remembers who I am. "I _thought_ it was you that I saw through the window."

He must have had a light-bulb moment since meeting me last week. A bit of a _delayed_ light-bulb moment, but still one nevertheless. He must realize we're destined to be together, that he's going to be the one that impregnates me and marries me.

When he goes to hand me what he's buying, the muscle in his light forearm bulges as he extends his arm out towards me. Our fingers touch and he runs his forefinger along my knuckle, probably accidentally, and it's like _instant ovary explosion_. Damn it, when will I ever stop acting like a smitten fan-girl around him?

"Well, you were right," I manage breathlessly, sliding my tongue over the left corner of my lip to get some moisture to it. "It _was_ me." _You found your wife._

My hands shake as I scan the bar-code on the product he is purchasing, which happens to be a pack of mounting rings that are half-price for sinks. Why he is buying them, I have no idea. But I'm almost definite he isn't a renovator- he hasn't even discussed that in any articles or interviews- unless he is having some kind of plumbing problem at home.

"Um, that'll be three dollars and fifteen cents," I mutter, lifting my gaze to look at him.

He's looking at me in a strangely intense and concentrated way, as if I'm a stain on his shirt that he is attempting to vigorously rub off. Then Christian smiles again, the corners of his mouth crinkling. "Have you been working here for long?" he asks curiously in a low voice while he digs one hand into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out his wallet.

"For about four years now, yeah."

"And is that something you enjoy? Assisting people with their hardware needs?" I get the feeling that he is making fun of me- or well, no, _flirting_ \- and my cheeks burn.

"It helps me pay my fees and rent, so I shouldn't really complain, should I?"

He extends his hand out towards me, palm forward, with the three dollars and fifteen cents. When I hold my hand out, I expect him to just tip the change into my hand, but he goes one better in turning his hand over, tipping the change into my hand _and_ pressing the heel of his palm and his fingers into mine, sliding them away from my skin. I'm almost positive that it's deliberate, his touching with his gorgeous masculine hands.

He just can't resist touching me because he feels that instant connection between us. When we get married, I know that I'm going to be the most devoted, sexually-charged wife to him. You hear people say that, once the honeymoon period is over, their sexual life suffers and dwindles. I know that won't be ours; Christian and I, married, it'll be the honeymoon phase every single day of our lives together, where the sex happens at least twenty times, seven days a week.

"Did your friend get what she needed with the interview?"

"Yes, she did. She was really happy. Especially when we spoke about Taylor Swift the way we did, squashing down that rumor of you dating her. Kate thinks, due to that, it'll be a big hit."

"Then I'm glad. Is there anything else that you recommend while I'm in here?" _Anything else I recommend?_

"Um, with what?" I ask in confusion.

He glances back around the store, annoying a woman behind us waiting in line that looks rather grumpy with him talking to me. Some customers get so impatient to be served. "To buy in here?" He meets my eyes, his eyes shining with amusement.

 _How about me?_ I want to say, and if I was more confident and less afraid of sounding like a weirdo, I would do. _You can always buy me?_

The woman clears her throat from behind us, annoyed that he's taking up my time, talking to me when she just wants to leave and get home to do her house or whatever it is that she does. I dart a look in her direction, raising my eyebrows at her in a way to say, _Quiet please, lady. We're having a very important moment here. You don't want to mess with me when it comes to me and my dream man!_

"I could say that you're always welcome to buy me but unfortunately I'm not for sale here," I end up blabbing out anyway, half-seriously, half-jokingly as I stow the money into the register compartments.

 _Oh, God. Shut it._

"Anyway, here's your receipt," I say, my face burning, and he holds my gaze as I hand it to him.

"I'm staying at the Heathman." He opens his wallet, bringing something out. Then he plops that something down onto the counter, sliding it towards me with a finger. I realize it's his business card, with his number on it. His actual phone number. "If there's anything your friend needs with the article, _anything_ at all, tell her to call me." All I can seem to hear is _him_ asking _me_ to call him. He's _giving me_ his number. He _wants_ me to call him. "Anastasia." He says my first name once again in farewell, his tongue and voice lovingly caressing it.

When he turns to leave, I can't seem to stop staring, even when the woman huffs loudly at me to serve her. I watch him stroll towards his car, and he pauses for a moment, turning back to look at me through the window before he ducks into the seat, shutting the door.

By the time he has safely driven out of the lot, I still can't get my head around it. _He gave me his business card with his number_! Already, I'm tempted to go into the staff room, grab my phone, and save his number into my list of contacts. Already, I feel tempted to call him over ten times in a three minute period, just to see if he'll pick up and answer. But for the sake of not seeming stalkerish, I don't. I just pocket his business-card instead.

 **Hope you liked this one? Thank you so much! I know the stories slightly crazy haha!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you haha. Hope your enjoying the craziness and that it makes you both laugh and smile :)**

* * *

 **Chapter 5**

When I finally get home, I find Kate in the kitchen, working on the article. Her fingers tap on the keyboard of her laptop manically.

"How's it all coming along?" I ask her, standing behind her to see her progress.

She growls under her breath in frustration. "Slowly. It is _slowly_ coming together, Ana. Google is being a bitch though. It won't give me permission to use a picture of him. I think I might have to get some originals somehow..."

"Guess who, of all people, dropped into Clayton's today?" I can hardly contain my excitement.

"Who?" She must see the Cheshire cat grin on my face, because she stops what she is doing to stare at me, her eyes bright. "Holy fuck, Ana. Christian Grey?"

"Yep."

"But what was he doing at Clayton's?" she asks curiously, blinking up at me in shock.

"Good question. He did buy some mounting rings but I don't know why. All I know, is that he is staying locally in the area. At the Heathman."

"You don't think he was just there to see you?" I already know the answer to that question. _Of course_ he came all this way to see me. I try to be casual about it, though.

"Maybe he just has business in the area? I don't know. But he gave me his business card with his phone number on it." I get it out of my wallet, showing it to her as proof so Kate doesn't suspect I'm just making it all up or was hallucinating.

"Wow." She turns the card over, inspecting the fine print as if she just can't believe it. "Have you called him yet?"

"As if, Kate. Besides he said to give it _to you_ , that if you needed anything for the article, then just to call him. I saved his number in my contacts though. I mean, how could I not?"

She gasps. "Hey, you think he'll be keen to do a photo-shoot for us? It's just that there are a lot of copyright issues with the images I want. You think he'd be willing to let us take some originals?"

"Probably. I mean, he seemed really enthusiastic to help you out with anything you might need. I'm sure he wouldn't mind that, Kate."

"Hmm." She gnaws down on her lip, thinking deeply. "We don't have a qualified photographer though?"

"What about Jose?" Jose is one of our closest guy friends who takes photography at University. "He would be good enough? I'm sure he would jump at the chance?" Even as I say it, I know it's a lie. I'm very vocal when it comes to my crush on Christian Grey, especially to Kate and Jose. I gush a lot, and Jose always comments that he personally can't see anything all that special in Christian Grey. He always teases me about my obsession.

"Great idea! You ask him though- he'll do anything for you." Kate always says how Jose obviously has a thing for me, but I can't see it. We're just friends. "Then you should call Grey and ask him."

"I think its better that you call Christian, Kate. After all, he asked me to give you his card."

"Yeah, but your the one with the obsession with him, Ana. Your the one with the relationship. Besides, you've already met him a couple of times."

"Yeah, but... what if he's expecting you to call, Kate? I don't want to seem like a stalker."

"Fine, I'll do it then. You call Jose." I try to eavesdrop on her conversation with my husband, but Kate sees me and waves me off, mouthing at me to call Jose.

She can be so bossy and unfair sometimes. Once I talk to Jose and he agrees, I head back into the kitchen, shocked to find Kate still on the phone with my dream man.

"Yeah, she'll be there. Awesome, thank you so much, Mr Grey." She hangs the phone up, her hands flailing around. "Okay, so its on. Tomorrow, ten thirty in the morning at his hotel suite."

"Jose agreed. I've just got to text him the location and time now obviously." It takes me a second for her words to properly register. "Wait. What? He's inviting us into his hotel suite to do the photo-shoot?"

"Yep, he is."

 _Oh my God. How could I even possibly begin to act normal while being in his hotel suite? What if I do something really weird, like sniff the pillow he is sleeping on? Would he notice if I stole his toothbrush as a memento?_

Kate bursts out laughing suddenly, staring at me in a weird way. I don't know what expression is on my face, but I hope I don't look too excited.

"What, Kate?" I ask self-consciously.

She shakes her head, grinning.

"What? You're freaking me out a little."

"It's just ironic, how things work out, huh?" She laughs again. "It's just that you've been obsessing over this guy for months, and now, look how its all gone? It must be like a dream come true for you?"

"Kind of, yeah."

"He practically _demanded_ you to be there," she admits quietly after a moment of astonishment, making me feel as though my heart has stopped.

"What? He did?"

"Yeah, he actually did, Ana." She laughs again, her eyebrows lifted in wonder. "I think he likes you." She wiggles and squeals a little in happiness for me. "The guy you've been obsessed with for like, months, actually likes you."

"You sound surprised?" I retort, affronted. "What? You weren't expecting him to? I'm too much of a plain Jane for him ever to?"

"Of course not," she bursts out, her face falling. "I never meant it like that! I was just thinking that... maybe he'd think you were a little too... intense about him, that's all. Some guys just get a little turned off by a girl's intensity, I've noticed."

"Well, it's like I said in the first place," I say, a little smugly. "I knew we were meant for each other. He must see that now, too."

"Yeah." She rolls her eyes, wincing, and I know she still doesn't believe in my belief that we are mean to be, Christian and I. "Oh, I almost forgot. There was a letter on the doorstep for you when I got in. I left it on the table for you."

"Oh, cool. It's probably from my mother." I find the letter, inspecting it. It just says Anastasia on the front of the letter. It doesn't say who the sender is. It mustn't be from my parents then, seeing as someone obviously just dumped it onto my doorstep. There's no stamp.

"Did you look and see who its from?" I ask Kate curiously.

"Um, no. Why would I? It's your letter, Ana. You know I don't open things addressed to you."

I open the letter, yanking out a piece of paper that is folded neatly. Written on the paper in neat, cursive writing with a blue ballpoint pen, is:

 _Oh, can't you see,_ _You belong to me?_  
 _How my poor heart aches with every step you take,_ _Every move you make_  
 _Every vow you break,_ _Every smile you fake_  
 _Every claim you stake,_ _I'll be watching you._

I recognize the lyrics immediately, from the song Every Breath You Take by The Police and Sting. It is actually one of my favorite songs. I know some people consider it to be a creepy song about stalking someone or harassing them, but I actually find it to be romantic. Immediately, I know its from Christian. I don't know why my mind automatically comes to the conclusion that its Christian Grey that sent me the note, that its his handwriting, that he wrote the lyrics... It's just a gut feeling I have. He must know how perfect we are.

"What was it?" Kate rises from her chair near her laptop, coming over to see behind my shoulder.

"Lyrics. Someone wrote me lyrics to a song."

She picks up the letter, reading it. Her reaction is so much different than mine is to it; She pales and her hands shake.

"What the fuck, Ana? Who sent it? Was there a name?" She checks the back of the paper but I already know its hopeless.

"Nope, nothing. No name or anything."

"Any idea who sent it?"

"Yep. My husband."

She lets the letter fall onto the table, eyeing me in disbelief. "What the hell, Ana? You could try to sound a little more scared about this?"

"Why should I be scared?"

"Because everyone knows that Every Breath You Take is like the ultimate stalkers anthem. Someone's practically admitting to stalking you and watching your every movement!"

"I've always liked that song. Despite what people think, I find it romantic."

"God, I don't know about you sometimes..." she mutters, shaking her head. "If I were you, I'd consider calling the police, Ana. It's really fucking creepy!"

"What? And get Christian arrested so that he can't end up doing the photo-shoot for you tomorrow?"

"You don't know it's Christian though, Ana," she argues back in frustration. "It probably isn't even him! It's probably some weirdo!"

"Well, I _know_ it's from him, Kate." I grab the letter before she can throw it out, sliding it back into its envelope. "I'm going to go put it in my folder with my collection."

She mutters something back at me in irritation, but I ignore her, heading into my bedroom. I get down onto my knees, sliding out my folder from where I keep it safely hidden under my bed.

I rifle through it, looking at my collection. The photo-shoots, the articles. Then I slide the letter into an unused plastic pouch for safekeeping.

* * *

The next morning, we arrive at the Heathman early to get set-up. When we explain to the receptionist that we are here for a photo-shoot with Christian Grey in his hotel suite, he must have already notified them, because we are told which floor to head up to and are allowed to go up immediately.

Already, my nerves have taken over when I help Jose with carrying his camera case with him into the elevator. I think I'm the only one that feels nervous and filled with anticipation at seeing my hubby again; Kate looks utterly cool and composed, while Jose can't seem to quit grinning at me for some reason.

"I always said Christian Grey was a tool whenever you bring him up into the conversation, Ana," Jose says during the elevator ride up to his floor. "And now, look at me! I'm here to take pictures of the tool!"

I know Jose is doing it on purpose to annoy me; He always says negative things about my dream man, knowing how much I have a crush on him.

"He's not a tool, Jose," I grumble under my breath. "He's perfection."

"He's got a thick neck, like his neck is too big for his small head," he says, laughing at my oversensitiveness when it comes to Christian Grey. "I really don't see what is so special about him, Ana. What does he have that makes it so impossible for you to like a real man that is actually standing right in front of you and not in front of a screen?"

"Shut it, Jose."

"You're just jealous that Ana likes him instead of you," Kate bites back. "Try to be polite, okay? I need this."

By the time the elevator doors open up onto his floor, I'm already in a bad mood from Jose teasing me and making fun of my crush. Why is he so annoying?

We find the number of his suite and Kate knocks loudly. It takes him barely three seconds to answer. I feel like I'm really red in the face once he invites us all in. Jose bangs his shoulder into mine, really shitting me. I feel like its impossible to tear my eyes from him once the three of us step into his suite. He looks so good, dressed in a white button up dress shirt and jeans. The top buttons on the shirt are undone, showing off a bit of his yummy chest and throat. _Who needs ice-cream when Christian Grey would be just as good to lick at?_

"I'm Katherine Kavanagh," Kate announces, immediately going into professional journalism mode. She extends a hand out towards him which he shakes.

I feel a little funny, like my blood pressure has risen to dangerous levels, when their hands touch. _Back off Kate,_ I wish I could say to her. _Hands off my man. I'm the only one that gets to touch him!_

"We talked over the phone about the photo-shoot. Thank you so much for taking the time to do this, I know you're probably busy. I really do appreciate it."

"I'm not busy at all." He looks at me, his eyes crinkled with that delicious genuine smile. "I had a free schedule. As I said to Anastasia, I'm happy to help in whichever way that I can."

 _Anastasia. God, the way he says my name. It's like music to my ears._

I step forward to shake his head, yet Jose beats me to it. He pushes in front of me rudely with his hand extended, "Jose. I'm the photographer."

They shake hands, and its awkward. Maybe its all in my head, but it feels as if they are sizing each other up. Christian looks Jose up and down with a smile that looks too similar to a grimace, while Jose does the same. I can tell Jose is being his regular butthead self. I can tell he's thinking critically of my dream man. He says mean stuff about him all the time.

Finally, its my turn, and I jab Jose in the ribs with my elbow as I step forward, Christian stepping forward too with his hand still outstretched. "Miss Steele, it's good to meet again." Our hands touch, and my fingers flex around his instinctively. It's so embarrassing. He has to literally wrench his hand free, blinking rapidly in surprise that I wouldn't let his hand go.

"Gosh, sorry," I mumble with a short laugh. "There must be something wrong with my hand today." I shake it out, wiggling my fingers. "I don't know what's wrong with me." Another weird laugh escapes me and I wish someone would jump out and kill me.

He just stares at me, his eyebrows slightly raised. It's impossible to know if he is contemplating on whether I'm nuts or not.

Fortunately, Kate intervenes. "Okay so I'm thinking we do this by the window. We'll have to use natural lighting."

"That won't be a problem," Grey says, turning his eyes on me again. _Does he feel it too- our wondrous connection? Does he know I've received his letter with the lyrics? That I automatically knew it was him?_

Tearing into our little moment of staring, Jose slaps me on my ass as he passes me, unzipping his camera case. _My god, why is he so fucking embarrassing right now?_

"Fuck off, Jose," I snap out before I can stop myself. I know its not very attractive, swearing in front of the man of your innermost fantasies, but still.

Christian's expression changes weirdly after that, though I'm not sure why. He seems almost a little... pissed off when he looks at Jose. Why, I have no idea.

Jose sets up his tripod while Kate yanks open the curtains to let the natural light pore in, while I just stand around uselessly. In order to busy myself, my eyes dart around his suite. It's a pretty extravagant room which he can evidently afford as he is rich. I wonder if he'll notice if I excuse myself to use the bathroom? Would he notice if I steal his toothbrush?

"I can change, if you like?" My husband asks, and when my eyes find him again, I see that he is just standing around uselessly too. I don't realize that he is directing the question to me until it occurs to me that he is staring at me, waiting for me to answer.

"Oh, um, no. Your perfect." I close my eyes in embarrassment as it leaves my mouth. _Way to sound creepy and infatuated, Ana. God._ "I mean your clothes. Your clothes are perfect for the shoot." When I reopen my eyes, I see he looks slightly amused as he runs his fingers through his hair.

"If we are ready, where do you want me?"

 _How about on the bed? You and me... together._

"How about by the window, Mr Grey?" Kate suggests, coming to stand beside me.

And then the photo-shoot begins. Christian stands by the window while Jose takes pictures, directing him. Look out towards the window. Look into the lenses. Look past the lenses. Sit down. Stand up.

"He _definitely_ feels something for you," Kate whispers in my ear as we observe him. "He keeps staring at you in a weirdly intense way." She's right and it is true. Every time the shutter on the camera goes off, his eyes will move over to me.

He's such a natural in front of the camera, but he won't smile, which is a shame. Jose keeps trying to egg him into smiling, yet every time he does, Grey gives him a hard look like he wants to punch him on the nose for merely asking alone.

"You still reckon he was the one that sent the stalker anthem lyrics?"

"Definitely," I say confidentially without preamble.

Using an excuse to Kate that my legs are hurting from standing so much, I move towards his large hotel room bed, sitting down on it. Then I bring my legs up, sitting slightly on my side while watching Jose take more and more pictures. I turn my head a little, sniffing discreetly. Holy shit, I think I can actually smell him on the bed sheets; A slight musky, masculine smell. I just want to bottle his natural scent up and slather it all onto my skin so that every inch of me smells like him.

"Okay. Think we've got more than enough now," Jose says, and the photo-shoot is over.

They shake hands again, Christian leaning in a little to say something to Jose that I can't hear. I think it is almost something threatening because when Jose turns away, he looks a little frightened and startled.

"What a weirdo," Jose grumbles out as he kneels down near me on the bed, packing his camera up securely.

"What?" I mutter to Jose in confusion, leaning closer to hear him. Kate and Christian are distracted, talking to each other, shaking hands again.

Jose just shakes his head, his cheeks reddening.

"Jose, what?" I demand eagerly. "Tell me."

Jose glances behind his shoulder, making sure he won't be overheard, before he leans in to whisper in my ear, "He just said that if I slapped your ass like that ever again, he'll dismember every single finger on my hand with a butcher knife. What a total tool, Ana."

My heart races. "Are you serious? He really said that, Jose?"

"Yeah, he did." Jose scoffs out loud, shoving the strap of his camera case over his shoulder. "Still like him now? He's nuts, Ana." I don't find it to be nuts at all. If anything, I'm pleased. Someone had to tell him.

I bite down on my bottom lip, a billion emotions coursing inside of me all at once due to Jose's admission. Wow, did he _really_ say that? Did he _really_ threaten Jose for slapping me on my ass? Maybe it's a sign that I'm more than just a little loopy, but... if Christian _truly did_ say that to Jose then, _how hot_ is that?

When I look at him again, I find he's staring at me again, in a heated, slack-faced way. His eyes run down my face and my body slowly, and I get the feeling that- if Kate and Jose were not in the room, of course- he would totally be joining me on the bed. He licks his lips slowly as he meets my gaze again, _and god_ , how I wish Kate and Jose were not here right now, intruding on us. He so looks as if he wants to ask me to take my clothes off- and would I? Hell yes.

But then my head becomes clearer. I realize I'm just laying on his hotel room bed, practically being rude in helping myself to it. With effort, I force myself to sit up, standing quickly while pulling down my shirt that has ridden up over my belly with the movement. When I meet his gaze again, he's _still_ watching me, looking as if he's trying to suppress a smile, his lips pressed tight.

"Anastasia," he says in farewell, and remembering myself, I extend my hand out for him to shake it. He nods at me once, his eyes burning with emotion. "I hope you enjoyed being on my bed while it lasted," he adds, as if an afterthought.

I feel my cheeks flush with heat. "I'm sorry," I manage to get out quietly with an embarrassed laugh. "My legs just were beginning to feel a little tired from all that standing."

"Of course they did." The way he says the remark confuses me. It's as if he knows or suspects my true reason for getting onto his bed; That I wanted to secretly smell his pillow, that I liked the feeling of lying on something that he himself has been sleeping on. And what's more, he doesn't seem creeped out by that at all.

If anything, he seems a little... affected and turned on by it. After shaking my hand, he presses the fingers of both hands together, making a triangular steeple with them. Then he rests his hands near the front of his jeans, covering his groin almost, in a strangely embarrassed, uncomfortable way. My eyes drift down there by their own accord, and I notice the fabric in his jeans seem lifted. _Holy shit, he's hard._ My mouth pools with saliva at the realization. Me, laying on his hotel room bed, sniffing out the scent of his skin, it turned him on.

 _I_ turn him on. _Coffee_. Maybe I should ask him out for coffee?

 **Thank you for the favs, and follows and especially your reviews. I love to know what you think as someone who hasn't written a Fifty Shades fic before. Am I doing okay? Any suggestions are welcome.**


	6. Chapter 6

_**Thank you so much for your reviews, the alerts and favs I have received. Hope you enjoy this one :)**_

* * *

 _ **Chapter 6**_

"Coffee?" It blurts out of my mouth like I'm a person with a bad case of Tourette's. "We should have coffee together, like, _right now_." It isn't a question; It's more so a demand, and it's hard to know what he feels about that. His eyebrows lift slightly, his expression impassive. Usually I'm not so pushy, but hey, when it's the man of your dreams, its practically a life or death situation, isn't it?

If he doesn't agree to go out for coffee with me, if he rejects me... I think I'll die from the sheer pain and mental anguish of the heartbreak alone.

"Your asking me out for coffee with you?" He sounds surprised.

 _No, I'm not asking_ , I would say if I was brave enough. _I'm telling. You are going to have coffee with me right now, unknowing husband of mine._

"I am. I mean, _everyone_ drinks coffee these days, right?" I step outside his hotel suite, glancing back down the narrow hallway where Kate and Jose are waiting for me. Kate appears undecided; as if she isn't sure whether she should intervene and try to haul me away from him like the secretly rabid fan-girl that I am.

"Well, if it isn't green smoothies, it's coffee," Grey says, amusement lighting his eyes.

It takes me a moment to realize that he somehow knows. He knows that Kate and I attempted to do the green smoothie diet. How can he possibly know that? Unless he's looked me up on Facebook? But he doesn't have a Facebook page or a Twitter account. Christian Grey isn't on social media. Believe me, I'd know, and its probably smart of him that he isn't on social media. He'd probably get girls like me pestering him all the time, bombarding him with messages, trying to get close to him.

And honestly, if that were the case, I wouldn't have any problem trying to battle it out and eliminate the competition. I'd win against all the other girls out there and I know that without a doubt.

"How did you know about the green smoothie thing? Have you been stalking me on Facebook?"

"Maybe I have," he says mysteriously, pressing his lips together to suppress a smile, I think. _And I'll take that as a yes..._

Despite the pleasure surging through me, I try to appear shocked and a little uncomfortable by that. I'm assuming that's how a normal, sane woman would react when she finds out that the famous man she has been crushing on for over eight months has been stalking her social media accounts. "Maybe?" My act sounds convincing and I sound breathlessly unnerved. "Wow, Mr Grey. That's a little... disturbing of you, don't you think?"

 _More like disturbingly hot!_

In reality, it actually turns me on; The fact that he's been reading up on me and checking out my social media accounts. All the more evidence that we are destined to be together. He stalks me by keeping up-to-date on everything I post on Facebook and Twitter, and I stalk him by Googling him and collecting any interviews and articles revolving around him. We're perfect.

"I'm really not sure what to think about that," I go on, keeping the act up. "Have to say its a little creepy, tracking me down..."

He reddens slightly and I think I've gotten him embarrassed. It's so adorable, just like how I know our children that we will be having together in the future will be abnormally adorable as well. "Well, can you really blame me? It's like with what you said at the interview, with how... well-researched you were about me. I thought that maybe I should get more well-researched about you?"

I don't think he fully understands what _well-researched_ means in my perspective.

"So is that a yes to coffee with me then?" I prompt. _Say yes. Just say it. Yes. There, it's that easy. One word. Yes._

He hesitates, looking down at the front of his jeans that he is still trying to subtly cover with his hands. Then he clears his throat hoarsely. "Coffee sounds great. Let me just take a few minutes to get ready. Excuse me." He heads back into his suite and, tempting as it may be, I fight back on the urge to follow him back in. Instead, I turn back to where Kate and Jose are waiting, approaching them.

"What's going on, Ana?" Kate asks uncertainly.

"Um, we're going out for coffee," I explain to her. "I probably won't be coming back with you guys. I'll just catch a cab afterwards."

Kate's mouth pops open at the news while Jose sighs loudly to show he doesn't approve.

"Wow. And is this kind of like a date thing between you two?"

I peer back around my shoulder towards his room, relieved that he's still in there and that I won't be overheard. "I'm _hoping_ it will turn into a date. I mean, he didn't decline the offer, so that's a good sign, right?"

"Oh, it's _definitely_ a good sign, Ana. I guess I'll leave you two to it then, huh?" She gives me a look, one that says, _Try not to come off too strong and creep him out._ "I'm expecting a play-by-play recount on what happens when you get home, okay?" She winks at me before she heads towards the elevator, grinning excitedly for her friend, while Jose looks to be glowering. I really do not get him sometimes.

I clasp my hands together anxiously while waiting for Christian to emerge from inside his suite. When he finally does, I realize he's changed out of what he was wearing earlier, opting for something a bit less... casual and more formal; In a baby blue dress shirt, tucked neatly into grey trousers. The shirt is tight enough that it clings to his body, straining against sculpted abdominal muscles and his biceps as he moves towards me. It's definitely the type of stuff a man wears to impress his date, right? He wants to dress well to impress me. As for me, I'm just wearing ballet flat shoes, jeans, and a ruffled white T-shirt with a tan leather jacket thrown over it _. Is it too early for me to start shopping around for a wedding dress for our wedding day? Damn, if only I could change into something else as well..._

"Ready?" I ask, hating how swoony I sound.

"I think so. Are you?"

 _I've been ready for this my whole entire life_ , I think to myself, pressing my lips together to stifle a wicked smile at the thought. _And it's so true. I literally have._

I have to play it cool and act anything but obsessed with him. "Yep, I'm pretty sure I'm ready."

"Let's go get that coffee then," he says, and for some reason, I hear him saying other things in my mind as we walk towards the elevator.

 _Let's go to Las Vegas and get hitched._

 _Let's go make that baby._

As the elevator doors slide open, my mind is racing as I realize how abnormal I am. I'm not sure if I'm being paranoid, but it becomes difficult to think straight as we stand closely next to each other in the elevator, his arm brushing against mine. Do girls always think like this when they're so in love with a guy? Or is it just me? Am I crazy?

I usually try to steer clear of wondering on my mental health, but now, for some reason, it's all I can seem to stress about while being in the elevator with him. Is there something seriously wrong with me? Maybe this was a huge mistake? Maybe I'm better off not going anywhere near him?

He'll figure it out sooner or later, just how smitten I am with him and then it'll turn him off in a major way and he'll think I'm a loony bitch. What's the point in fooling myself on that?

"Are you feeling all right, Miss Steele?" Christian's voice brings me back down into the present, into the now. When I glance over at him, I discover he is staring straight at me, inspecting my face. He looks a little... concerned for me.

"Um, yes. I'm fine. I was just... thinking, that's all."

I am going to ruin this. If not now, sooner or later, I will. Kate said it herself; Guys find it an instant turn-off when a girl is too intense about them. I've sometimes fantasized about us getting married and have wondered where he would take me on our honeymoon. Paris? Hawaii? Anastasia Grey, even. _Oh, God._ I've practiced signing my signature with his surname. I've even already picked out two names that I think would go really cute together for when we have babies. _And yet, here he is, agreeing to go out for coffee with me! Does he not realize it will only end badly once he figures it all out?_

The elevator doors slide open, arriving on the ground floor lobby of the Heathman, and I consider just making a run for it. My heart is thumping loudly in my chest, my body in the panic flight response mode. _What the hell am I doing?_

"I thought we could have coffee across the street from here," Christian says, unknowingly centering me back down to earth. "It's a nice place to have coffee. Does that sound agreeable to you, Miss Steele?"

"Uh, yes. That sounds great."

We step outside the rotating doors of the Heathman and even the cool air that breezes against my hot skin isn't enough to calm me down.

Sooner or later, my obsessive tendencies will show about him. I can try to act all cool and composed, but you can only put a leash on it for so long. I'll only end up slipping up eventually, and it'll just cause him to pull away. Already, it's so overwhelming, simply just being in his presence and walking together. Already, it's difficult to maintain an appropriate amount of distance between us so that I won't inevitably freak him out. I feel like Gollum from The Lord of the Rings. He's the ring, and already, I just want to hold his head between my hands, caressing his skull and his hair, crooning, _my precious. Oh, my precious._

We are walking close together and, accidentally, I think, he brings his hand over, clasping onto mine so that we are holding hands while we walk. It's as if my heart stops beating for one single second as I turn to look at him in shock, the blood draining from my face. He simply looks back at me, then he lowers his gaze to our hands that are interlinked together while we walk. He gives mine a tight, earth-centering squeeze.

"Is this okay?" he asks uncertainly, staring at our hands. "Do you mind if I-"

"-God, no," I gush out in an unsteady voice. _Oh, my God!_ my mind screams, and I feel as if I can't breathe properly. My breathes come out shallow and embarrassingly loud. _He's asking permission to hold my hand! Holy fuck! Is this real or am I dreaming right now?_ "No, I... I don't mind at all, Christian. It... it's perfect." I close my eyes shut for a second, berating myself. When I bring my eyes back open to peer up at him through my lashes, he looks as if he is trying hard not to laugh. "I mean, not perfect but it... it's fine. I don't mind holding your hand at all."

 _Boyfriends hold their girlfriends hands,_ I think to myself, ecstatic. _He's my boyfriend._

I'm so distracted and happy by us holding hands that I completely forget myself. I go to step off the footpath onto the road to cross over to the coffee shop, a car horn beeps loudly, scaring me to near death, and before I know it, Christian is swearing under his breath, pulling me back with all his strength. I don't even know how it happens so quickly, but it does. One minute he's pulling me back off the road by his hand and, next instance, my arm has just conveniently found itself resting around his shoulder, our bodies close and faces inches away from each others.

"Fuck, that was close," he mutters in shock, inspecting my face carefully with his clear, intense gray eyes. "Are you all right?"

I can't even seem to remember how to use my voice. What happened, with almost getting run over just then, it's suddenly instantly forgotten. All that matters to me now, is that I'm here. I'm standing here, right in front of the man of my dreams, just where I belong with my arm around him, our clothes rubbing against each others. I can feel the warmth of his skin through the fabric of his shirt to mine.

"Are you all right?" he repeats again, his voice irritated. "You almost got killed, Anastasia. You _really should_ be more careful. Do you usually make a habit out of crossing the road without looking beforehand? Do you _have any idea_ how dangerous that was?" He's like a father scolding his child, and now that the numbing shock of what has just happened has left me, I start to feel aroused by his tone. He can boss me around anytime; He looks so stern, so sexy.

My eyes are fixated with his mouth, the way it moves when he speaks and pronounces certain things. _I want to kiss him so badly. No, not kiss... I want to bite that gorgeous, full bottom lip of his, mark him as mine so that when everyone looks at him, they'll see the bite mark on his lip and know that he belongs to me. Christian Grey is my property- always has, and always will be._

"Jesus, Anastasia. Are you _even listening_ to me?" He shakes me with a hand curled around my forearm, chiding me. He looks so troubled, as if the idea of losing me is something so painful to him. It's probably just wishful thinking, knowing me, though. "That car just then, if they hadn't stopped or honked their horn loudly in time enough... if _I_ hadn't been the one to fucking grab you and-" He shakes his head and before I lose my courage, I do it.

I _actually_ do it and it's like a dream being fulfilled. I bounce up on tiptoes, pressing my lips to his, cutting his words off. He starts kissing me back and it feels so much like a lucid dream. His lips move against mine, matching my rhythm, fast and passionate. I bring up a hand, using my knuckles to gently stroke up and down his warm cheekbone - _my precious, oh my precious_ \- and his arm weaves tighter around me, holding me as close as two bodies can possibly get.

When I lean my head back a little, I catch his bottom lip between mine, then I use my front teeth, biting Christian. I don't bother holding back. A hoarse, pained grunt leaves the back of his throat as he lets me go, stepping back, moving away from me, his face scrunched in pain. When he uses two fingers on his right hand to dab at his lip, I notice with satisfaction that my mission has been accomplished. His lip is bloody from my bite. Now when other women dare to look at him, they will know who he belongs to, that he is off-limits.

 _He's been marked. He's mine now. Other women, back off!_

Christian is still panting heavily from our kiss when he brings his gaze up to look at me, stunned. "I'm bleeding," he whispers out raggedly, though he doesn't sound too annoyed. If anything, he sounds rather affected by it all. Amused. "You bit my lip?"

"Oops, sorry," I laugh out, trying to sound Miss Innocent and as if it wasn't intentional. "I guess I just got carried away."

 _I wanted to make you sore, Christian. Now, every time you try to eat something or drink something, every time you run your tongue along your bottom lip and it stings due to your open bite wound that I have given you as a present, you'll be reminded of me._

 _Me, and only me._

 _Me, me, me._

"Still up for coffee then?" I ask when a sharp inhalation and hiss of pain leaves his mouth when he tries to run his tongue over the bite, licking up the blood.

But then it all backfires, in a terrible, terrible way. He shakes his head once, peering down at the ground. "I'm sorry, Anastasia, but... I think you should really try to steer clear of me."

 _What? Steer clear of him? How can he do this to us? How can he prevent us from happening the way we are supposed to happen?_

"I think that perhaps agreeing to go out for coffee with you was a huge mistake. I'd just be leading you on. I really don't do the whole dating thing, and I don't think it would be very fair of me to not tell you that."

My mind struggles to process it as I stare at him. This is so far beyond how I imagined things would go between us. He's messing it all up, this isn't the way the script of us getting together went in my mind. _He doesn't do the dating thing? Oh, Christian, your so silly, can't you see that? You do. You do date, and that's with me. We are dating._

"I just... I'm not the man for you, Anastasia," he continues, still staring down at the ground. He seems so torn, so conflicted. "The man your looking for isn't me. I don't do the whole romance thing."

How can he say that? I am filled with disbelief and skepticism. A bit of anger, too. Of course the man that I am looking for is him. I've been waiting for him for over eight months now. He's everything I want and need!

"I think our roles really should be in reverse, Christian." I manage to speak, despite feeling as though he's kicking me repetitively, making me bleed with each and every single thing that comes out of his mouth. "I should be the one telling you to steer clear of me, that I... I'm not the woman you think I am."

He glances up to meet my gaze, his mouth hanging agape slightly. "What are you talking about, Anastasia? I don't think I understand-"

"- I'm the type of woman your mother warns you about," I explain quietly, dropping my eyes to a spot on his shirt when staring into his eyes becomes too much. " _And_ the movies. _I'm_ the character in the movie that always ends up dying in the end. David from Fear. The Bunny Boiler from Fatal Attraction." I lift my gaze to peer into his eyes, looking for a sign that he can understand. " _You_ should be the one trying to steer clear _of me_."

I realize just what I'm telling him and how much I am revealing to him about myself, and instantly, I feel awash with humiliation. Anger and blood-curdling rage that he is daring to part us, but humiliation, too. Mostly humiliation. I've killed it. I've killed my dream, all because I've basically admitted to him how passionate I am about him, about how I'm practically a less-violent female version of David from Fear. Now he'll never want me.

"I need to go," I breathe, immediately racing across the street to get as far away from him as humanly possible.

 _My dreams. My future. My husband. Crushed._

 **Hope this one was okay haha? Crazy? Just wait until Ana finds out what Elena did to her man. Let's just say Ana will do all that she can so that the Bitch Troll will get what she deserves. She'll be stronger in this and more determined to get what she wants- her dream man- and possibly a little unhinged psychologically, manipulative, but... Christian will be the same. They will end up complementing each other. This is also HEA, so don't worry, Ana won't do anything too crazy.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Thank you so much. Hope you enjoy this one lol.**

 **Chapter 7**

I'm surprised that I make it safely across the street without collapsing to the ground and dying right there on the spot. The pain of his rejection, its so instantaneous, so crippling. When I turn to look back at him, I see he is just standing there, his hands dangling at his sides as he watches me go, kind of dejectedly. _How can he say what he said to me? How can he kiss me back even, then turn around and say all of that? Why send me that letter with the stalker anthem lyrics then, if he doesn't want me?_

Confusing. Christian Confusing, mixed-messages Grey.

It's only when I reach the end of the street where he can't see me that I sag against the wall, shaking and breathing laboriously. I feel like he's stabbed me with a knife, and now he is twisting the blade, causing me anguish. I feel like he's cut out my heart and has tossed it into the middle of a freeway, tires running over it brutally, pummeling the organs of my heart into flat mince meat.

I put my head in my hands, ignoring the pedestrians walking past me. This is the worst feeling in the world. I've been so invested in all things Christian Grey for over eight months and yet, he dares to do this to me? Is this something I deserve? How could he ruin us? Then again, why am I so surprised by this outcome?

Tears pool in my eyes as the ache in my heart grows even worse. _God, I'm so pathetic. Crying over someone._ I must have been living deep in a deluded fantasy world all those months, with how I thought we were meant to be together. Obsessing over him, fantasizing about giving birth to his sons and daughters.

This is almost as bad as how it felt when I was little. When I was little, around seven or eight, my mother Carla divorced my stepfather Ray. I had begged and begged to come along with her, yet she didn't let me. I had to stay with my stepfather- not that he isn't the best stepfather in the world. But the rejection back then, the fact that it was my very own mother doing it to me... it had stung. I think ever since that happened, I have always had a constant fear of being rejected. I have major abandonment issues all due to what my mother did. And now it's happening again.

I just don't handle rejection and abandonment very well. Never have. It is probably why I have never had a boyfriend. I get too attached to the point where I am like an octopus, clinging and wrapping myself around the person that I'm attached to, holding on too tightly to the point of suffocation. Maybe this is for the best? I would have only done the same to Christian. I would have lost him anyway due to that. Maybe this is best?

Wiping my eyes furiously, I move them away from my face, somehow finding the strength to carry on.

 **Christian POV:**

 _What the fuck have I done?_

It is the only coherent thought that passes through my mind as I head back into the hotel. I feel like shit for what I've done to her. She had looked so upset, so heartbroken. People like to always joke and say that I don't have a heart, but I know I do. If I didn't, then why the fuck am I feeling so remorseful the way I am right now?

I press the elevator, waiting for it so that I can ride up to the floor of my hotel room. Once I get up there, I unlock the door, walking into my suite. I shut the door, locking it up securely, staring at the bed where she had been laying on during the photo-shoot. The bed sheets are crumpled where she was.

I was right to do it though, no matter how painful it was. I truly am not the right man for her. I mean, she studies literature for fuck sake. There's always romantic heroes in literature, and no doubt, Anastasia probably idealizes all of them. I'm so far away from Heathcliff and Mr Darcy and all that shit. I'm a billion different shades of fucked up. Red fucked up, blue fucked up. Green, grey, black.

It's for the best.

* * *

 **Ana POV:**

By some miracle, I manage to survive through a very long, very painful week.

I feel like I'm grieving from a breakup - not that I have ever experienced a breakup before, of course. Its the way I'm assuming a painful breakup feels like, though.

I can't even eat properly. So far, I've managed to eat only three tubs of yogurt and two bananas this week. It's like I can't keep the food up, like my body is too filled with pain to digest anything. I can tell Kate is really worried about me. She just gives me this pitiful look all the time. I had told her what had happened, and she had seemed just as confused as I was over it. She had believed that he seemed really into me, and I thought so too. I mean, we're basically soul mates, meant for each other.

But _apparently_ not. It's been a week and, still, I can't come to terms with what has happened. I'm in denial.

It didn't help that I looked him up on Google last night. The paparazzi spotted him out and about, leaving a local restaurant still in the area. He was wearing jeans and a black shirt. He must still be staying at the Heathman. Some gossiper had even spread a rumor that he must have gotten into a fight at this restaurant he was caught leaving from, because his bottom lip was swollen and bruised.

I know better though, of course. It's just my mark staining him. Even after a week, it hasn't properly healed, and that satisfies me in a deeply perverse way.

 _I hope that sore on your lip reminds you of me, Christian. I hope it pains you for every second you've been paining me, with what you've done to us. You've ruined us, made us not happen. It's only fair that you suffer your fair share as well._

* * *

Today is the day I have to sit for my finals. Kate does as well and, in contrast to how nervous Kate feels, I feel so numb and indifferent. Then again, I have been feeling that way all week ever since what Christian did to our relationship.

"Want some fruit salad for breakfast, Ana?" Kate asks from her spot in the kitchen, slicing fruit with a big knife. "They say fruit is brain food..."

Even the thought of eating makes me feel like vomiting. "Ugh, no thanks, Kate. I don't think I would even be able to keep it down."

"Still that bad, huh?"

"Yep. I feel like I wish someone would kill me," I admit to her. Normally, I've been trying to keep my suicidal impulses hidden from Kate, but ever since what happened, I've been experiencing them a lot this week. "I kind of wish a train would run me over."

"Ana," Kate says in disapproval. "You can't die, okay? We have our finals to get through first. Finals and graduating, then maybe after that, you can die. Okay?"

"Okay," I mutter.

"I was thinking that we should go out to celebrate tonight? You, me, and Jose? To celebrate getting through our finals today?"

"Okay," I say again.

"Ana, stop saying okay. You just need to go out tonight and have fun. It'll do you some good to keep your mind off everything that's happened."

I think Kate's right. A distraction and something good to look forward to would do me wonders.

 **Christian POV:**

"Come on, Miss Steele," I whisper desperately to her Facebook page from where I sit at the desk near the window in the Heathman, my forehead throbbing in frustration. "Give me something. _Anything_. Just a sign of life is all I need at this point."

Now I think I can understand how they say social media is addictive, and I don't even have a fucking social media account. I've been hooked on staring at Miss Steele's page. So far, I've been left disappointed. It's been a little over a week and _nothing_. Absolutely nothing.

No Tweet. No new photos of her with her lips smeared in a coating of red lipstick. What is she doing that is so important that its keeping her away?

I haven't been able to get her out of my mind, which is a definite first for me. Usually I don't get this way about women. I don't know how that can be or what it is about her in particular, but it's as if I can think of nothing else but her this week. I just _want her_ to write something on Facebook or on Twitter. Just a _new_ photo, preferably another bikini shot. Now is that _so much_ to ask?

A knock comes at the door of my suite, and I rise from the chair briskly to answer it. Room service. They wheel in my food on the cart, asking me where I want it. I just tell them to leave the cart where it is and I'll deal with it. I'll eat on my own time but, as for now, I'm too agitated to even so much as eat anything.

She's just a sheer mystery to me. The words she said to me have been haunting me. It's as if I can't make any sense of them. What did she mean when she said _I_ should be the one steering clear _of her_? What did she mean when she said that she's basically similar to the character out of Fatal Attraction? I looked up YouTube videos on that movie, watching movie scenes all because _of her_. Sure, the woman in that film is crazy, but she's sexy crazy. If a woman went that nuts over me, that possessive... What a huge fucking turn-on.

And she _bit_ me. She bit my lip, another first.

I got a call from my mother all because she saw a photo of me on the internet taken by a bloodthirsty pap leaving a restaurant. She was concerned that I had started participating in bar brawls again- something I did when I was younger- because of the split lip Miss Steele gave me. I just made up some shit about accidentally biting it when eating and my mother actually believed me, bless her. My brother Elliot teased me over the lip and said I have contracted herpes- his latest stupid joke. Though older than me by two years, Elliot can always be so juvenile and immature.

But back onto Anastasia Steele...

I return to the computer chair, clicking open her Facebook page again, going through her photos. I've noticed that photographer jackass, Jose Rodriguez, has been commenting on her photos a lot. It's fucking annoying. He's commented on literally _every single_ photo, he's so hot for her.

 _Jose Rodriguez: Looking good and fit, ladies._

That comment was made in that bikini photo of Anastasia and her friend.

 _Looking HOT, Ana. Go the red lipstick!_

He keeps writing on her wall, posting shit. It's so obvious he's fucking horny for her. Can she not see that?

I've been so tempted to make a fake online profile just so that I can tell him to back off, that she's mine. It was one thing, touching her ass- no, _her_ ass which is _mine_ \- when he came in for the photo-shoot, but pestering her, being so pathetic and desperate with the comments...Jesus Christ, it makes my blood boil.

I click onto his page, judging his profile picture. He's such a douche-bag, posing for the camera with his shirt off. I bet he jacks off to Miss Steele's pictures regularly then cries afterwards, hugging his pillow because he knows, deep down inside, that he would never get a chance in hell of being with her.

He wrote a status just last night, and my curiosity getting the better of me, I click the link. A new window appears, redirecting me to a website he created.

 _Dreams are finally looking up. I have created a new website where you can buy prints of my photographs. Total self-promotion ha._

What a pretentious fuck. I pore through his photographs, some of lakes and houses. He isn't even that good. Then I look through a tab that he calls real-life portraits. My breath hitches in my throat as what I see confirms what I suspected.

Yeah, he's obsessed with her, all right. _Fucker._

Portraits of Miss Steele are everywhere, starting from the price range of ten dollars. Pictures of her smiling, of her laughing. Walking along beaches, sitting on benches. Does she even know he's done this? That he is selling photos of her where basically any old sick fuck can purchase them and hang them in their houses?

 _Speaking of old sick fucks._.. I find my wallet, deciding to buy them all. I'll buy them all so this Jose douche runs out of stock of them so he can't sell them anymore. It isn't like I don't have the money available to me anyway, right?

Besides, Miss Steele should be thanking me. I'm just doing what her romantic heroes would do that she no doubt studies about in her English Literature class at University. I'm being the hero, the knight in shining armor. She should be getting down on her knees and thanking me. It's better me buying them all and covering the walls of my penthouse with them, rather than some sick pervert, right?

 **Anastasia POV:**

"All right, everybody. Time's up. Pens down, please."

I place my pen down on the desk, stretching. And it's done. I got through it. I trudged through my final examination. Things are actually starting to seem to look up now. I meet Kate's gaze at the desk across from me, grinning at her. We are going out celebrating tonight and surprisingly, I find myself looking forward to it. Kate was definitely right then; I'll feel better heading out tonight to a few clubs, dancing and getting some shots into me.

We head back to the apartment together, getting ready for the night ahead of us.

I end up wearing a dress, even although I rarely like wearing them. I find it too much effort to shave my legs, so usually I limit myself to jeans, but tonight I want to put in a little more effort.

"Jose said he'll meet us there," Kate informs me while slipping in her earrings.

We squash into the small bathroom, both of us fighting to use the mirror to see our reflections. I manage to push her out of the way long enough to put on a coating of red lipstick, pursing my lips. Something about wearing it always makes me feel better, no matter what situation.

"He also said that an online buyer brought a lot of his photos today from his website."

"Wow, really?" I can't help feeling pleased for Jose. It's been his biggest aspiration, becoming a successful photographer. "Which ones?"

"The portraits. I think most of them were the ones of you, though. He said they brought over two thousand dollars worth of them in one full purchase." She smiles at me in the mirror while running her eyeliner pencil around the rims of her eyes, making them truly pop out. "I think you've got yourself a fan, Ana."

I make a face at myself in the mirror. I wasn't all that happy to learn that Jose had decided to sell some of his photos of me. It had felt like a huge invasion of my privacy at first, but then I relented, giving in. _I cannot believe someone spent two thousand dollars on pictures all of me, though! Kind of... disturbing._

"That's a bit weird, someone buying heaps of pictures of just me?"

Kate shrugs, unconcerned either way. "Jose said that, seeing as you were the subject of the pictures, he's happy to give you a percentage of the money."

"Well, I'd hope so," I mutter. "I mean, I think that's only fair. I never wanted him to sell pictures of me in the first place. Does he know who brought them?"

"Well, he never really said. I think the buyer wanted it to be kept confidential. I think Jose found out his name was Paul-something-or-rather. Paul Spector or something like that..."

Now I'm worried that the person who brought them is this creepy old, morbidly obese man. Maybe some guy who wants me as his next victim, a guy who intends to cut off a lock of my hair for safekeeping, a guy who likes making skin suits out of females. _God, please don't let it be some weirdo pervert that brought them._

My mind drifts off while I begin straightening my hair. I shouldn't be doing it, but I for some reason daydream that its Christian Grey that brought all of them. I imagine going into his house, seeing pictures of me hanging up on all his walls... I squirm a little, pressing my thighs tightly together as a wave of arousal courses through me. I had told myself that I would forget about him after what happened, but... apparently I can't. It's just too hard and the hole in my heart is still gaping open with unhealed bullet holes.

* * *

The club that we meet Jose at is loud and hectic. Some of the other graduate students from the university are there, celebrating as well. I congratulate Jose when I see him, and he seems really happy. We have two shots each just to get the party started, then we move onto beer.

Jose heads up to the bar to buy Kate and I a beer while we stand around, listening to the music. A live band is playing tonight, the female singer mourning over unrequited love. _(Violate all the love that I'm missing, throw away all the pain I've been living... You will believe in me, and I can never be ignored...)_

The lyrics in her gritty voice just ring so true. It's exactly how I feel for Christian. It makes my heart hurt and my eyes well up, because this singer, she knows exactly what I am going through. I'm not alone on this. It's as if the song she is singing has been written for me. Or, well, for Christian. _(I would kill for you... I would steal for you... I'd do time for you... To be close to you... To be part of you, because I believe in you... I would die for you...)_

After a few beers, I start to feel a little sick and tipsy. I haven't been eating properly all week, so I wonder if that is a main contributing factor in me getting drunk quicker. Because I'm not thinking as well as I should be of the consequences, I tell Kate I'm using the ladies bathroom, and I squeeze my way unsteadily in there. There's a long line to use the toilets and it seems like I have to wait forever to get inside one. Once I do, I slide the lock in place, fumbling for my phone out of my handbag.

I peruse through my contacts, finding Christian's number that I had saved under the name 'HUSBAND'. Would I be totally bat-shit nuts if I called him right now? At least it isn't as loud in the cubicle and I am feeling quite tipsy and daring.

I laugh to myself, pressing the dial button. _Oh, boy. This is going to be hilarious. I am so going to give him a mouthful of what I think of his little 'I'm not the right man for you' speech..._

He answers on the second ring, his voice floating into the cubical as I put the phone on speaker. "Anastasia? I was wondering when I would hear from you?"

 _Oh, wow. How did he even know it was me? How did he know my number? Unless he's... psychic?_

"Um... how did you even begin to know it was me calling you? I didn't give you my number?"

He sighs loudly, sending the phone crackling. "I found out your number. It wasn't that hard, Anastasia. You'd be surprised at what possibilities open up to me because I'm loaded."

 _Anastasia, oh God. Screw him! Screw him for saying my name in such a sexy, effortless way!_

"Um, okay then, Mr Creepy McCreeperson." A laugh tears out of my mouth at my own joke, though he doesn't reciprocate the laugh.

"Anastasia, have you been _drinking_?" He sounds scandalized, like I'm committing a sin or something. "You sound different, like your... slurry?"

"Well, hello. Welcome to the 21st Century, Christian. Everybody drinks nowadays." Someone flushes the toilet in the stall next to me and I cringe.

"Where are you?" he asks, sounding very annoyed. "I know you're in a toilet, because I heard it flush just then. But where?"

"You're _so_ confusing," I gush out in my own annoyance. "First, you send me that letter, being all 'I'll be watching you' and, 'Oh, can't you see you belong to me?' Then you're like, 'Go away, Anastasia. I don't do the romance thing'. So _confusing_ , Christian."

"Where the fuck are you?" He's panting heavily and another laugh escapes me at the harsh sound of his voice. _Wow, he's enraged. Really, really enraged. How hot is that?_ "Where are you drinking? What club?"

"I'm somewhere far, _far_ away from you," I taunt, being purposefully vague. There are a million bars here. There is no way in hell that he can find me easily. "How's the lip, by the way? Hope it hurts you every time you eat or drink anything, Mr Stay Clear of Me."

"Who are you with?" Christian demands. I have never heard him sound so agitated. It's kind of empowering, knowing that I am the one that is making him feel that way. "Is he there?" he asks, his voice low with suspicion. "Are you with him right now, drinking with him?"

 _Is he there? Who the hell?_ "Um, who?"

"The photographer?"

Jose? Why would he care that I'm out drinking with Jose?

Another toilet flushes again in a different stall and I grimace. _Great, now he'll think that I'm stuck on the toilet with a severe case of diarrhea while talking to him..._

"I'm coming to get you," he says in a foreboding voice. "And when I _do_ find you, don't be surprised at what I'm gonna do to you. You can expect your ass to be sore for days." And then he hangs up.

 _Wow. Wait. What? Coming to get me?_

 **Hope you enjoyed this one and that it isn't too ridiculous? :P**

 **Just in response to a reviewer, I don't mean to offend. There is a good reason this story is marked in the humor category. I am trying to make people laugh, it isn't something to be taken seriously by any means. Yes, this Ana may be stalking, immature and similar to a Beiber fangirl (well, more so a Grey fangirl) but that is the point. As for Christian, yes, he may be too "classy" to like someone like her ordinarily, but in this story, he will like her. They are really two peas in a pod in this. This is written for fun, that's all. And hopefully, to make people laugh.**

 **Just a question: Would you prefer them to start dating and their stalking gets more serious (Christian breaking into Ana's house to steal her underwear and a few trophies/Ana turning up at Grey's office for an impromptu lunch when he's busy at a meeting)? Or flirting/cat and mouse games with no dating as yet? Christian hiring a PI to follow Ana's every whereabouts? I would love to hear your suggestions.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Thank you so much. Your reviews, alerts and favs I have received mean a lot. Hope you enjoy this one!**

* * *

 **Chapter 8**

"Ana, you okay?" Kate asks me with concern once I return from my trip to the ladies room. She looks so good tonight, dressed in a tiny camisole, short skirt, and high heels, her blonde hair braided and piled up like an elf queen from Lord of the Rings. She's the elf queen- I'm Gollum. "You took ages in the bathroom? You feeling sick?"

"No, I'm pretty good." My conversation with Christian in the toilets over the phone comes back to me, and I giggle and snort. "I just called Christian while in the toilet."

"You're kidding?" She shouts it over the loud band music in the club. "God, Ana. How many times do I have to tell you? Drunk dialing is _the best_ way to slaughter your chances." She slides her arm around my shoulder, holding me close. I guess we are both pretty tipsy. "What did you call him for?"

"I don't know. It was kind of an... impulse thing. It didn't go down too bad."

"Really?" she asks in disbelief. "You didn't ask him to marry you, did you?"

"As if, Kate. You know I'm a little more subtle than that, even while slightly drunk..."

It's really lucky that Kate and I turned out to be such best friends. Before Kate came along, at the start of freshman year, I was friends with this girl called Sarah. I thought we were going to be BFF's.

As it turned out, we weren't even close to it. We were inseparable at first; heading to the mall and sleeping over at each other's houses. Then, literally out of nowhere, she wouldn't return my calls and ignored me in the hallways. Let's just say I didn't take to that too well.

When I confronted her over her behavior, Sarah had said, _"Ana, your so clingy, it's pathetic. You call me, like, every fucking hour, its creepy. I don't want to be friends with you anymore, okay? God. Can't you take a hint?"_

That really hurt me at the time. So I started turning up wherever I knew Sarah would be, hoping to convince her to change her mind. She hadn't responded to that very well either, and so she started rumors around school that I was a lesbian obsessed with her.

I'm not a lesbian, of course- not that there is anything wrong with being one.

I just wanted to be BFF's with Sarah. I found her to be so stylish and cool. Now, fortunately I realize that Sarah wasn't all I thought her to be. I looked her up on Facebook once, to find she was pregnant at twenty. She now has a little boy, and she's a little on the heavy side. I'm so lucky I have Kate now. Me and Kate are the real BF's forever, and she does not judge me, no matter what I do.

There's this quote that I think sums up our relationship perfectly. It goes; 'Friendship is like peeing on yourself: Everyone can see it, but only you get the warm feeling that it brings.' That quote is definitely how I'd describe my friendship with Kate. We're like pee, warm as it trickles down your thighs.

"Look at you two." I don't know how it happens, but Jose suddenly appears next to me. "I just gotta get in this." He reaches over, draping his arm along both Kate and my shoulders. I feel a little ill when he squeezes me into the side of his chest. Great, now I'm sandwiched between Jose and Kate. The heat is stifling. "Group hug action. Gotta love it!"

"Who is Paul Spector?" I ask Jose loudly through the music, leaning up to shout near his ear. "Kate told me that a Paul Spector brought over two thousand dollars worth of your portraits of me?" Kate wiggles, getting loose from Jose, leaving me stuck wedged beneath his arm unfortunately. I try to look Kate's way for help, but being as tipsy as she obviously is, the look doesn't seem to sink into her brain.

"I'm getting some water," she explains to us. "Why is it so hot in here? Must be all the hot bodies in here..."

I watch her stumble up towards the bar sadly, my head screaming for her to come back. I feel like Rose in Titanic, pleading and croaking for the lifeboat to come back. _"Come back... Wait... Come back..."_ Where is a whistle when you need one?

Draped with Jose's arm around me, I feel the wetness under his armpit, drenching my bare skin. He's sweaty. Gross.

"I don't know who the guy is, Ana. I got his address details, and I know he lives in Seattle. I have to send the canvases over to his house in the next couple of days, but that is _the most_ money someone has ever paid to buy all my photographs. Can you _believe_ it?" He laughs loudly in my ear, his voice unsteady with excitement. "Two _thousand_ dollars, Ana! All thanks _to you_!"

He looks at me real closely with his face, making me feel uneasy. While I love Jose, and he's been a pretty good friend, it's just that he struggles to understand the concept of personal space. It's nauseating, being trapped beneath his moist, hot armpit. I try to get free and whoa. Instant head spin.

"Your really sweaty, Jose," I complain. " _Too_ sweaty."

Thank goodness, it seems to do the trick, my comment. Self-conscious, Jose takes his arm off my shoulders, sniffing under each armpit in embarrassment. And the stain! There's a huge moist stain under the arms of his shirt! _God, I just want him to go away right now. Who the hell sniffs under their armpits in public?_

"Whoops, sorry, Ana," he laughs, his dark eyes shining with amusement. "It doesn't smell, though. I _did_ put on deodorant before I came here, I _swear_."

To my relief, Kate returns to me while carrying two glasses of chilled water. "You're probably gonna need this," Kate says, handing me one of the glasses. "It's like a sauna in here!" She looks as Jose while bringing her glass of water up to her lips, and then she loses it, laughing out loud at something. Yeah, she's definitely more than just a little tipsy. "Look at Jose," she mutters near my ear, nudging me with her elbow. "The sweat is _literally_ , like, dripping off of him!" We know he can't hear us talking about him anyway, because the music is far too loud.

"Tell me about it," I mutter back to her, then I take a sip of the water. It flows down my throat wonderfully. "Thank you _so much_ , Kate," I gush to her in appreciation. "Water is _so_ what I need." I sip another mouthful of the water, then almost choke when I see _him_ standing across from us.

 _Christian. He found me. Somehow, he actually found me!_

Kate makes the choking noise for me, and I realize she must have spotted him the same time that I have. I reach for her, pounding her on the back.

"Oh, my God, Ana," she splutters, coughing. "What's he doing _here_? Did you invite him to come out here tonight to drink with us or something?"

"Not exactly, but he _did_ say that he was going to come find me." _How? There are so many clubs in the area, so how did he know which one to find me at? Oh, who am I kidding? Like it even matters!_

"Fuck, he's hot," Kate says dreamily and for a second there, I feel my blood pressure rise dangerously. _She's daring to call MY man hot. How dare she!_ But then she says, "Who is _that_ with him?" and I calm down almost instantly.

Christian isn't alone. A guy is standing with him, wearing a rocker T-shirt and black denim jeans, with auburn long hair that almost reaches to his shoulders. He's obviously the guy Kate is talking about. She has always liked her men a little scruffy.

"Do you know who that guy is with him, Ana? He's got that whole wild Johnny Depp vibe about him. He's so hot!"

"I have no idea who that guy is, Kate. I know that, from his Wikipedia page, that Christian has an adopted brother though?" Could that be his older brother? Elliot? I'm not even going to pretend to feel ashamed that I already know how many siblings my dream hubby has, and what their names are. "Maybe that's his older brother Elliot?"

My eyes flit over to Christian where he stands next to the guy who is probably his older brother. He's staring right at me, and damn, he looks so delicious. I could just eat him up. If I was a cannibal, I _totally_ would. He's dressed so conservatively compared to his brother; In grey ironed trousers and a tight V-neck T-shirt with a black blazer thrown on over it.

It's a little hard to make out his expression properly through the dim lights, but I think he's still angry over the phone call. I see him look at Jose, who is standing next to me, and then he shakes his head, lifting a hand to grasp his brother by the shoulder. They say something to each other which, obviously, we can't hear, and then they start moving towards us.

It feels like he is walking to me in slow motion, like he's on the catwalk and no one else even exists. There's a dull ache in my abdomen, as if my ovaries alone are yearning for him. _Impregnate me. Impregnate me, please._

"Oh, great. The tools here. Well, I'm gonna grab another beer," Jose says to me glumly, but I can't say that I'm even truly listening to him. There's just Christian.

I lift my hand, wiping my fingers over my chin for reassurances sake. To my relief, my chin comes back dry. I'm not drooling. At least, not on the outside.

"Anastasia," he greets curtly once he reaches me, nodding once. His jaw is tight. "Told you I'd find you." My eyes drop to his lips, and I note with major glee that his luscious, full bottom lip has a scab mark from where I bit it last week.

"Watch out for Mr Herpes over here," the guy with him jokes, pushing in the middle of Christian to shake my hand. "You must be Anastasia Steele. I've just had an earful about you in the car." _He's just had an earful about me on the way over?_

My eyes dart over to Christian out of their own control, my heart hammering. He presses his lips together tightly, looking a little embarrassed by his brothers words. And a little grumpy, too.

 _Christian must have been telling him about me- hopefully positive things. Things like how we are going to have babies, and about how much he wants me to be his wife, that we're destined to be._

My arm works with me, fortunately. I manage to shake the guys hand, and then he turns to Kate. I can tell Kate likes the guy already; When she likes a guy, I can just immediately tell.

"I'm Elliot, this weirdo's big brother. And you are?"

 _Elliot. His older brother and my future brother-in-law! I knew it! Invisible fist pump!_

"Kate," she says breathlessly, shaking his hand. She looks as if she's having an orgasm just by touching his hand. "I'm Kate, Ana's friend."

Elliot looks at me, grinning. "Well, whatever you do, I advise you to think twice about kissing the little bro over here unless you want to get herpes." He punches Christian on the arm playfully and I hear Christian curse under his breath in serious annoyance. Christian looks like he wants to murder his own brother as he shakes him off. It's so adorable. _And herpes, ha! I'm willing to take my chances..._

"Will you _stop_ fucking saying that about herpes?" He mutters to his brother in a low, irritated voice. "I just _told_ you, it's not herpes. She just _bit_ me."

"Whatever." Elliot doesn't look as if he completely believes him, but he fixes his gaze on Kate, eyeing her up and down. He's definitely checking her out. "Want to go have a dance?" Kate doesn't even have to answer. She grins at him, and then he places his arm around her shoulder, guiding her to the dance floor. I have never seen Kate appear so instantly smitten by a guy before.

 _It must be a Christian Grey thing..._

When I glance over at Christian, I find him staring at me. He's rubbing his fingers over his lips, wincing a little at the scab I made him have there, irritation in his eyes.

" _That's_ your brother?" I laugh, turning to watch them. _Oh, okay._

Already, my best friend and my brother-in-law are making out. It didn't take long at all. They are practically having intercourse on the dance floor; Their hips gyrating as they hump each other through their clothes. _Wow._ I kind of wish Christian would dance with me like that.

"Believe me, its not by choice," he says, and when I bring my eyes back to him, I realize he's standing really, really close to me. Like close to the point where his shirt brushes against my dress. It makes my heart race. "Elliot being my brother is not something I wanted by choice. He's embarrassing."

A snort of laughter leaves me. "Yeah, I can see why you'd think he's embarrassing. Mr Herpes."

His expression straightens dangerously at that, to the point where he looks really solemn. It's as if he is considering doing something illegal to me. His gray eyes search my face. Then, startling me, he brings up a hand, catching a fistful of my hair through his fingers. Leaning down, he holds the strands near his nose, and I think I hear him sniff and inhale the smell of my hair in, his eyes burning into mine. My sort of tipsy brain likes what he is doing, like _a lot_. He reminds me of The Thin Man in Charlie's Angels who goes around sniffing hair. It's _so hot_ in an unexpected way.

"You want to dance with me?" I suggest hopefully. "I'm like the master at Twerking? Even better than Miley herself?" _Oh, god._ The instance that leaves my mouth, I feel so embarrassed _. I'm good at Twerking? Seriously?_

"I don't think so, Anastasia." He lets my hair slip free from his fingers, and my hair, suddenly an animate, living thing with feelings, mourns the loss of contact. "How about we get you home?" He pulls up the sleeve on his blazer, checking the time on his watch. "It's eleven thirty. I think it's time we get you home and into bed."

 _Get me home and into bed? What?_

"What am I- the kid your babysitting?" I ask, incredulous. I cannot believe how he is acting at all. While its sexy, of course, it's a little... strange. "It's only eleven thirty?"

"Well, eleven thirty is late enough for you," he says firmly, like he's my dad. "Come. Let's go." Stunning me, he grabs me by the forearm, pulling me along towards the exit. I feel like I'm a prisoner and he is the security guard, forcefully leading me towards the execution room.

 _Oh, my God. He's serious about taking me home!_

"Why did you bother sending me that letter, Christian?" I demand, trying to struggle. He just tightens his fingers around my forearm, squeezing into my skin a little. I bet I'll get bruises later in the shape of his fingerprints. How hot would that be? To have his fingers imprinted on me, marking me? "When you said that you didn't do romance, then why bother leaving that letter for me on my doorstep?"

We get outside and its then that finally, I get my arm free. He sighs loudly as I turn to look at him. He looks so agitated, and he uses his thumb and forefinger to pinch around the bridge of his nose. " _What_ letter, Anastasia? I don't think I even-"

"- You _know_ what letter. The one you left me with the romantic lyrics?"

"What letter with the romantic lyrics?" He squints at me, and it occurs to me that, unless he is a really good actor, he's confused. He sincerely doesn't know what I'm talking about.

 _Oh, shit. He wasn't the one that sent me the letter with the lyrics. Kate was right. It probably is some random weirdo that sent me them! Why hadn't I called the police while I had the chance? Damn, and I had so wanted it to be from him..._

Something crosses over his face, though I'm not entirely sure what it means. Recognition forms in his eyes, I think, and he sighs loudly. "Fucking Paul," he mutters under his breath in agitation.

"Paul?" _What the hell is he talking about? This Paul Spector guy that apparently brought the photos of me maybe? Does he know him?_

"Come on. Let's get you home."

* * *

It's very quiet when I wake in bed. So quiet in fact, that it's disturbing. Usually Kate is up and about around the apartment, making noises while she fixes herself up some breakfast.

I open my eyes, noticing the pillow is damp from my drool. The ceiling doesn't look like the one I usually wake up to, in my bedroom. There is no Christian Grey poster on my ceiling right now. I sit up in terror, inspecting my surroundings. Oh God. I think I'm in Christian Grey's hotel room at the Heathman. _Oh, shit. What had I done last night? Did I break into his hotel room, demanding that he love me? Did I do something to him last night?_

I glance around the room, checking every corner and crevice. _Phew._ He isn't tied up anywhere. There's no blood anywhere in the room. I mustn't have done something too bad last night to get here then, right? I mustn't have gone all psychotic?

I pull the blankets off, crossing my legs Indian-style on the mattress. Somehow, I'm not even wearing the dress I wore last night. I feel weirdly bare and exposed, wearing a long shirt, and as I check under the shirt, I realize there is a pretty good reason for that. I'm not wearing my underwear. I'm not even wearing my bra anymore. _Oh, wow. Did we make love last night?_ I check my left hand, disappointed by the results. _Damn, no wedding ring. I guess I'm still not his wife just yet._

 _But I know I'm going to be..._

I lean back against the headboard, sighing happily. This is like a dream come true, ending up in Christian's hotel suite, in his bed. I spot the suitcase he has resting against the wall and the impulse wins out. I get up, moving over towards it. Then I undo the zipper halfway, immediately spotting a pair of his underwear packed in there. _He wouldn't know, right? What he doesn't know won't kill him...I mean, it's just one pair._

I pull them out, inspecting his underwear curiously. I always assumed Christian would be a boxer brief type of man, that he'd wear silky boxers with little cartoons on them or AS printed on the fabric. But no, he's a designer brand wearing kind of guy, I learn. Calvin Klein. I definitely need to keep a pair of these to take home to add to my Christian Grey collection.

Suddenly, I hear a key being inserted into the door and I panic, stepping into his underwear quickly. I've only just gotten them on and have them completely covered by the long material of the shirt I'm wearing once he pulls open the door.

It's exhilarating, wearing Christian's underwear; It is just so nice to wear something of his, something that his private parts have touched. And now, they're touching mine. It's perfection.

I clasp my hands together behind my back, trying not to appear too suspicious once he closes the door, looking straight at me. He is panting heavily as if he has been out running, the front of his chest on the shirt dark with sweat. It isn't like how it was with Jose last night; Jose, all sweaty last night was gross, whereas with my hubby, I just want to slather his sweat onto my skin like aftershave.

"Good morning, Anastasia," he breathes, his eyes shining in amusement. "Sleep well?" I can't tell if he's worked out that I'm wearing his underwear.

"Why am I here, Christian?" I ask suspiciously, watching a bead of sweat trickle down his forehead. I have never wanted to be a bead of sweat before. If I was, I would just exist on his skin forever, rolling around his eyes, his nose, lips. Caressing him. "How did I get here? Why am I in your hotel room?"

 _Please don't tell me I held him at gunpoint..._

"You passed out. Don't you remember?"

 _I passed out? Um, how?_

"I didn't even realize I was _that_ drunk to pass out?" I say slowly, shocked.

"Well, you were."

His eyes drop to something on my shirt as he breathes deeply, and when I look down myself, I realize my nipples are poking out through the fabric of the shirt. My nipples are practically screaming, _Hey Christian! We want you! Come and play!_

"Where's my clothes?" I ask, fighting against the urge to cover myself up with my arms. "What happened to my underwear and my bra? How come I wasn't wearing them when I woke up?"

Christian seems suddenly preoccupied with the sweat on his face. He grabs the bottom of his shirt, lifting it up to wipe his face on the fabric and, _oh god_ , I get a glimpse of his taut stomach muscles. The Gollum in me has awakened, crying out, _my precious. Ooooh, my precious!_

"Who's shirt is this that I'm wearing, Christian?"

 _Please be his, please be his._

"It's mine."

 _Yes!_

"Did you undress me?" Oddly enough, I don't feel as outraged as I probably should do about that.

"Well, I never really had any other choice, Anastasia. I couldn't exactly leave you to sleep in your old clothes now, could I?"

"Why couldn't you have? What was wrong with my clothes?" I just don't get it. At all.

"Yours were covered in vomit." He says it like I ought to be ashamed of myself. _But vomit? I don't even remember vomiting at all last night?_

"What? So my bra and underwear were covered in vomit as well?" I can't say I believe him for a second.

"Oh, _especially_ your bra and your underwear. Those were... ruined beyond repair." Christian's eyes seem to shimmer with secret amusement as he brings up the bottom of his shirt to wipe along his forehead with it. It's as if he knows something I don't know. "Now if you'll excuse me, Miss Steele. I've gotta go take a shower. _Some_ of us actually have important things that they need to do today."

At that, he grabs the neck of his shirt, pulling it up and completely off his body. His eyes on nothing else but mine, he chucks the sweaty shirt on the floor, as if daring me to go ahead and do... _something_?

He leans against the wall with his shoulder, undoing his shoelaces next, his eyes not once leaving mine. What the hell is he expecting from me? He yanks off his shoes and socks, tossing them on the floor carelessly. Then as he saunters towards the bathroom, I see what's hanging out of the back pocket of his grey sweatpants.

My underwear that I wore last night. _And_ my bra.

 _And here I was, innocently assuming he was just deliciously sweaty because he has been exercising..._

 **Hope you enjoyed this one? Sorry if the story is a bit too crazy and weird, but hopefully it amuses you as something different? Don't worry, Christian won't have a split personality. More like an alter ego he blames things on because he doesn't want to take accountability. I'll try to update every three days if I can, if real life doesn't get in the way.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Thank you so much for your lovely reviews and the alerts I have received. I know this story is really crazy, but hopefully in an amusing way.**

* * *

 **Chapter 9**

I hear the shower turn on in the bathroom and the temptation to sneak a look in to watch him hits strong. It's so exhilarating, the knowledge that he is so close to me, in the next room, naked and sopping wet.

The door isn't properly closed, and it is as if he's inviting me in to shower with him. Would it be nuts if I did join him in the shower? Surely he had to have left the door the tiniest bit open on purpose, didn't he? He must want me to come in and join him.

Just as I'm warming up to the appealing idea, my ringtone goes off from somewhere in the room. _Shit, my phone! Someone's calling me!_ Could the person have anymore worse timing? I bet its Kate, the party-pooper. I manage to find my handbag with my phone inside it, and once I zip it open and grab my phone, checking who is calling, surely enough, I'm right. It is Kate. The Gollum in me writhes in despair at the missed chance of bathing with his precious.

"Hi," I answer, wandering closer to the bathroom door. Just _one little_ peek wouldn't hurt, would it?

"Ana, where are you? I know you went off with Christian last night, like his brother said but... where are you now? You didn't end up coming home?" She's worried.

"I'm sorry. I guess I forgot to call. I'm in Christian's hotel suite."

"What? His hotel suite? Oh God, Ana." I know exactly what she's thinking before she even says it. "What have you done?"

"Relax, Kate. I didn't break into his room. He actually brought me back here."

There is a moment of stunned silence on her end as she strives to digest that information, which I use to my advantage in pushing the door open just that little fraction wider with my hand. Steam assaults me as I poke my head into the room. Damn, my hubby must love his showers hot. Much to my displeasure, the steam obstructs anything I could have seen of him. I can see the silhouette of his body in the shower through the glass- thank you, to whoever created glass-paneled showers- and the way he lifts his arms, washing his hair. _If only that steam could clear up just a little bit..._

"You're okay then?"

 _No, I'm not okay right now,_ I think to myself grumpily, biting my lip. _If I could just see him naked through the steam, then everything would be spectacular._

"Yeah, I'm okay." I sort of forget I'm basically halfway into the bathroom when I say the words.

"What?" Christian calls loudly over the shower water, and cursing under my breath, I step back out of the room, my heart racing. "Did you just say something to me, Miss Steele?"

 _Shit, crap._ "Um, no," I call back extra loudly. "I'm just talking to my friend on the phone, not you." God, imagine if he caught me trying to perve on him in the shower. How embarrassing would that be? I tread over to the unmade bed that I slept in last night, sitting on the edge of it.

"So did you two... you know?" Kate trails off meaningfully, letting the question linger. She wants to know if we had sex last night. _I wish!_

"No, Kate, we didn't. I woke up... without my bra or underwear on though. So now I'm wearing a pair of _his_ underwear. Feels really good wearing it, too. Baggy because obviously I don't have a penis, but good."

"What? His _underwear_? How do you know that you didn't do it together then, if... you know? If you woke up without your clothes on?" I know for a fact that we didn't do anything last night. He just stole my underwear and my bra for... whatever reason he had. But hey, I'm not complaining. I find it rather... sexy.

I hear the water stop running in the shower.

"Kate, I've gotta go. I can't be talking to you about this right now," I whisper to her desperately. "He's coming back into the room. I'll talk to you later."

I hang up at the same time Christian emerges from in the bathroom, wrapped in just a white towel around his waist.

The towel hangs dangerously low off his pelvis, and he's dripping wet, naked from the head downwards.

I feel like I'm squealing inside and hyperventilating from the sight alone. I've tried to Google images of him shirtless- and there are a few pictures of him modeling for underwear- but nothing prepares me for my dream man, Christian Grey, standing there, right in front of me, real and in person; his hair flat and damp with water.

Beads of water roll down his cheeks and, just like how it was with his sweat, now I find myself wishing I were drips of water running down his face, caressing his chin, the curve of his broad shoulders, his collarbones. Water rolls down his upper-lip and he licks it off with his tongue, and _holy cheese-balls_ , I want to be droplets of water so badly. There's a dark line of hair trailing down his belly button.

"I need to get my clothes. Excuse me," he says, strolling to his suitcase near the wall.

 _Oh my god, his feet!_ He's barefooted, leaving a trail of wet footprints on the carpet in the room. I don't know why that surprises me because, yes, even he has to shower without any shoes on, but... it occurs to me that I haven't seen his feet before. I look at them now, at how big they are. _And you know what they say about big feet on a man..._

He unzips his suitcase and for a moment there, it is as if my heart has stopped functioning. Will he notice one pair of his underwear has gone missing? To my relief, he doesn't seem to. He finds a shirt, some jeans, and another pair of underwear inside his suitcase. He hasn't seemed to notice one is missing at all.

I want to see what's under that towel. I _need_ to!

Without thinking, I shove my phone off the bed with my hand and onto the floor, then I get down onto my knees. It isn't too suspicious if I pretend I'm trying to get my phone, right? My eyes glued to trails of water cascading down his muscular thighs, I knock my phone closer to his feet, crawling a little. I'm just almost to the point where if I look up, I can see whats up the towel and whats between his legs when-

"Are you all right down there?"

 _Oh, god._ I look up, realizing Christian is staring right at me, his mouth parted as he breathes raggedly, both eyebrows raised. _And here I am, on my knees, trying to get a glimpse of his package under the towel. Yeah, this isn't awkward or weird of me at all..._

"Oh. Sorry." I sit back on my haunches, my cheeks burning. I try to seem all Miss Innocent, biting my lip. "I was just trying to grab my phone that's near your feet. I dropped it." He just stares down at me for a very long, very excruciating moment. He looks...amused and his tone had sounded quite patronizing, as if he knows what my true purpose is for getting down on all fours. _Yes, I just want to sneak a peek between his legs under the towel. Am I that transparent to him?_ "My... my phone," I stammer again, pointing to it. "I was just trying to get it, that's all." Do I sound really guilty right now? Somehow, I suspect I do.

He glances down between his legs at where my phone lays. I'm really lucky he hasn't trod on it; It's _that_ close to his feet.

Using his bare ankle, he pushes my phone to me with a light kick, and I grab it, rising to my feet quickly.

"Thank you," I mumble, not quite able to meet his eyes.

"You're very welcome, Anastasia." It's like he is secretly laughing at me.

There's an awkward moment where he just stands there, and I feel his gaze burning into my skin. I stare at the small patch of fine, short hairs on his chest, his flat nipples. There's a few circular marks on his chest. I think they might be scars. _Did someone do that to him? Who would want to hurt my husband?_

"I'm going to get changed," he says, his voice hoarser than it normally sounds. "I think you should consider doing the same. I'll take you home."

 _Damn. So much for checking out his package..._

* * *

 **THREE DAYS LATER**

 **CPOV:**

The canvas portraits I brought of Miss Steele are to be delivered in three business days. I just cannot wait to have her inside my house. When they do arrive, the courier greets me at the door, the twenty canvases I brought packaged and carefully stacked and loaded onto a trolley.

Since I can afford to and I'm my own boss, I had called my assistant Andrea earlier on in the morning, explaining to her that I had things to do this morning and that she cancel all my mornings appointments. Now that she has, it means I can properly get Miss Steele settled into her new home.

"You'll need to sign here, sir," the courier says, and after signing the little sheet to say I have received the goods, he asks me where I want him to put them.

"Just by the couch," I tell him. "I'll do the rest myself."

"Yes, sir."

Once he leaves and I'm alone, I take off my knit sports jacket and get started with unpacking each one of them. I lay the canvases out carefully in a line, propped up against the couch. Once I've pulled the protective wrapping off the very last one, I stand back, inspecting the long line of canvases I've made of Miss Steele. I think this is the best thing I've ever purchased in years; these portraits, despite them purely being a random impulse buy.

While I think the photographer Jose Rodriguez is a total douche-bag of colossal proportions, there's no denying he has a certain knack at capturing his subject when it comes to taking artistic pictures of Miss Steele. That's probably only because he jerks off to her on a regular basis.

The portraits range in different sizes and colors; Black and white theme, color. Black and white Miss Steele with a bright, colorful background. Bright, colorful Miss Steele with a white and black background. Laughing, smiling. Making a playful silly face. At the beach, barefoot in the sand. No bikini shot unfortunately, but a floral summer dress that just reaches past her thighs.

Already, I can tell these will look wonderful in my penthouse. It is just a matter of figuring out where to put them. I already have a few pictures framed on the walls, but I decide to remove them because I feel they will clash with the new theme I am going for here.

I want Miss Steele all over my walls. _Just_ Miss Steele.

That way she can watch me wherever I go; When I'm working out, lifting weights and running on the treadmill in my gym area. In the bathroom, when I brush my teeth, piss, and sit on the toilet, emptying out my bowels. In my bedroom, above the headboard of my bed, so that when I get that urge, I can be like the fucker Jose Rodriguez and jack off to her.

The elevator opens and Taylor appears in his finest suit. Taylor is my driver, as well as the main man who deals with my security. Wherever I go, usually Taylor goes. If I have any trouble, Taylor is the one that immediately intervenes, going all badass to slay any fuckers coming my way.

"Good morning, sir," he says, standing rooted to the spot near the elevator.

"Morning, Taylor." Normally Taylor and I keep our relationship professional, but I feel as if I need an outsiders perspective. "Taylor, come over here. Look at this. I want to know what you think."

Taylor moves forward to stand beside me, his hand clasped out in front of him. He looks at all the portraits of Miss Steele that I have resting against the couch, all twenty of them. His face remains completely passive, and Taylor rarely smiles unless I smile first.

"Aren't these nice?"

"Um, yes, sir. They are very nice." Taylor always agrees with me, no matter what. Even if I brought a purple suit with green gloves to go with it, he'd still say the suit is nice even if it really fucking wasn't, just to appease me. What I say, Taylor says, to keep the harmony. But right now, I don't want that. I want an honest answer from him for once.

"Tell me what you _truly_ think of them, Taylor. I was thinking about taking down my old photos and replacing them with these ones so that I can have her in every part of the house, watching over me. Does that sound like a good plan to you?"

He hesitates, staring at one of the photos where Miss Steele is biting her lip with her two front teeth, the naughty, saucy little seductress. "Uh, do you know this woman, sir?"

"I do."

"And does she know you've brought all of these photos of her?"

" _Of course_ she doesn't, Taylor. How do you think she would react once she sees them?" Hopefully she will react by getting down on her knees and thanking me. I practically saved her from any deranged sickos buying the pictures, after all.

Taylor starts panting heavily; something he does when he's a little stressed out. "Your mother's arrived, sir. She's coming up now."

My heart lurches. _What? My fucking mother is visiting? Now?_

"She's coming up _right now_? Jesus, Taylor. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was going to, sir, but then you distracted me by-"

In a panic, I start gathering up all the canvases, trying to put them together. Where the fuck is something that I can throw over them to conceal them? A blanket? Towel? Anything! I need to hide them! I know my mother. If she sees them, I know what she'll think.

Then I remember what's in my bedroom.

"Stall her," I bark out at Taylor, breaking out into a light jog into my bedroom.

My stash of Anabilia (That's memorabilia, but I like to think of it as Anabilia because its _all of her_ ) is still on my bed. I switch my laptop off that's still on and open on both her Facebook and Twitter page, waiting for an update from her. Then I grab her bra and underwear that I stole from her at the Heathman without her knowing. I bunch her panties up in my hands, shoving the fabric into my face and giving them one last strong inhale to pull me through- I _swear_ , I can fucking smell her on them- then I stow them both under my bed, chucking them under the mattress so that they are hidden from my mother's prying eyes.

"Christian, honey?" My mother Grace's voice sings out from in another room. "Where are you, baby?"

 _Yes, she still calls me baby despite me being the middle child and at age 27, nearly 28. How fucking irritating._

"Oh. Are you sure he's home?" I hear her mutter to Taylor.

"He is, ma'am. There was just something he needed to do."

Bracing myself, I straighten my shoulders, walking out of the bedroom. And there, she stands, my adoptive mother. Don't get me wrong, I love her. She's just the most meddlesome woman; dropping in always at the most inconvenient times to check on me. I see she's wearing the diamond drop earrings I brought her last year for mother's day. She always color-coordinates her clothes. The scarf and coat she is wearing match each other in color.

"There you are," she exclaims happily, and as I meet her, she pushes out her cheek. I kiss her cheek, and its my turn, and another thing that seriously grates on my nerves is that when she kisses my cheek, she does it loudly with a sloppy "Mwah". "I thought it would be good to drop in and visit you? I heard from your assistant that you weren't coming into work this morning?" She searches my face with concern. "You're not feeling a bit under the weather, are you, baby? You're not sick?"

"I'm perfectly fine, Mother," I assure her, a bit shortly. I can't help it. Taylor has pissed me off for not letting me know she was visiting. I wish she would leave already so that I can hang my portraits up.

She looks around the room, her eyes landing on the portraits. _Fucking excellent. Here we go._

"Oh, what are these?" she asks with interest, and she steps closer to them, lifting the first one up to see what the second portrait is of. Then the next, then the next.

My hands ball up into fists at my sides, my wrists shaking. _Stop touching them,_ I want to hiss at her. _Get your hands off._

"Oh, wow," my mother gushes, looking my way in approval. "Who's this girl? She's very pretty." She wants to know more. She wants to know what this girl means to me.

"She's no one that concerns you, Mother," I mutter under my breath. _Just stop!_

"They are all of her? The same girl in each one?"

I force a smile on my face at her, nodding along. _Yes, they are, Mother, well done. And I just sniffed her panties. I can still smell her, even now. I have the underwear that belongs to that very same girl, the one in_ all _the portraits, hidden under my bed._

"Is she your girlfriend?" She goes on, sticking her nose always into where it does not belong.

"No, Mother." I sigh heavily through my nose. "She isn't my girlfriend. Paul brought those pictures of her. He wanted to hang them up around the penthouse."

Finally, she straightens, no longer touching the portraits, thank fuck. She gives me a wink and a smile, playing along. "Oh. Well, in that case... Paul's got very good taste in women then, doesn't he?"

* * *

 **Ana POV:**

Things have been going slower than I would have liked, as far as where me and Christian are concerned. It has already been three days since I woke up in his hotel room and, after that, so far _nothing_ has happened. I haven't heard anything from him at all, and he hasn't gotten into contact with me.

I have been seriously contemplating going out on a limb and surprising him, forcing something to happen between us. I feel like making us lunch and appearing at his office. It's something I have been swaying back and forth on; I've heard sometimes that men can find women at their most attractive when they are forceful and aggressive. I just need to do something to make him realize how much I want him, if he hasn't figured that out already. What better way than surprising him by dropping in at where he works for an impromptu lunch?

Kate says the idea is a really bad one, because it would make me seem stalkerish if I suddenly dropped in unannounced at his office. But I truly think that is what we need, Christian and I, to kick-start our relationship. We need action and, right now, it's so stalemate and frustrating. I _need_ to do something to show him how committed I am _to us_ as a couple.

Making up my own mind, I ignore Kate's words of warning, instead opting to do what _I_ want to do and what I feel is right. I finish my shift at Clayton's at around one thirty in the afternoon, then I head back to the apartment, getting changed into one of my dresses. My legs are a bit hairy because I haven't shaved them since those past three days of seeing Christian and wearing a dress at the club, so I slip into some sheer black stockings to try to conceal the little pricks of hair regrowing.

I wear a pair of ankle boots and straighten my hair and my fringe, hoping to put my best foot forward. They also say that a man likes it when his wife puts effort into her appearance and tries to dress well for him, so that is precisely what I am trying to do. Lastly, I slather my signature look of red lipstick onto my lips. Already, just with the red lipstick alone, I feel good and sexy about what I am doing.

Then the hard part comes next. I head into the grocery store, trying to decide what we can have for our romantic lunch.

They have fresh salmon in stock- not very cheap either, but hey, my man is a very rich person and he no doubt loves the finer, indulgent things in life so splurging a little on our lunch date won't hurt. I grab a kilo of that and some rice crackers and cream cheese to go along with it. I decide we'll have rice crackers with slathers of cream cheese on it with sliced salmon pieces to top it all off for our romantic lunch.

It definitely sounds good to me. It's something nourishing which shows I am keeping in mind my husbands health and that I understand the importance of him eating good, fresh wholesome foods. Especially when his work schedule must be so hectic.

I feel like I want to vomit on the long drive to where he works, at Grey Enterprises. What if he doesn't actually want to have lunch with me, and he turns me down? What if he calls security on my ass and they haul me out of his office? That would truly be the worst.

But I know I am overthinking it. He took my underwear and my bra, and he never gave them back. He let me _keep_ his underwear. Isn't that a sign of how perfect we are and how much he likes me?

It's a disaster, trying to find somewhere to park at lunchtime where he works. The parking lot is almost full, but I manage to find a space after a few blocks around his work-site. I take in a deep, cleansing breath as I put a few coins into the meter, then I grab the bag with our lunch in it. It's turned out to be the worst day for it, and my idea of us having a nice, romantic picnic is thrown out the window when I notice how dark and cloudy the sky is. _His office it is then..._

I walk through the rotating doors, immediately heading towards the elevator. To my relief, the security guard doesn't stop me when I try to ride it up to his floor. It must just be general old paranoia making me feel funny.

Once the elevator doors open on his floor, his receptionist or assistant, whatever, turns her blonde head to look at me. "Hi there. Can I help you?"

"I'm here to have lunch with Christian Grey," I explain to her, lifting up the bag with our food onto the pristine counter so that she can check the bag, if she needs to. I'm not holding any concealed weapons on me, of course I'm not.

"Oh. Um, okay." She looks through the book on her desk. "I don't believe that is written in here, Miss...?"

" _Steele_. Anastasia Steele."

"I'm sorry, Miss Steele, but you need to make an appointment if you're planning to see Mr Grey. His schedule is very tight today."

I press my lips tightly together, trying to restrain myself from exploding on her. _Whoa, cool down, girl._ There's no use in losing my temper, but really, this is so not going to plan the way I expected it to.

"Well, I brought _all_ our food for lunch here and everything," I say to the woman. "I mean, it's _only_ lunch. Even Christian Grey has to find the time to eat lunch, right?" My voice has failed me. It has risen, high-pitched with stress. "I just drove, like... almost four hours to have lunch with him?" A combination of desperation and anger floods through me, to the point where I become so tempted to beg to her. "Please, I don't think you understand how important this is to me. Christian and I, we're supposed to... to see each other and have lunch."

"Well, I'm sorry, ma'am." She speaks the words in a low, calm voice, like she is trying to placate me. Or like I'm some pathetic creature inspiring pity. _Condescending bimbo bitch._ "But Mr Grey did not mention anything about-"

"- _Why_ are you trying to ruin this?" It comes tumbling out of my mouth in anguish before I can prevent it. I'm shaking, I'm that distressed. From my head, down to my toes. "You know what? I _know_ what your problem is, lady. _You_ want him all for yourself, don't you?" I'm speaking between clenched teeth, my face feeling hot. "Well, over my dead body. Christian is-"

The door to his office opens and there he stands, like a ghost that has appeared out of nowhere. His hands are halfway through fixing the tie from around his collar.

"Anastasia?" He sounds so shocked to see me, so surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm so sorry, Mr Grey," his assistant says desperately, "But she wouldn't-"

Christian puts up a hand, silencing her. _Take that,_ I think to myself, satisfied. _I hope he fires your ass for trying to come between us._

My shaking and mental anguish seems to dissipate the second he rushes over to me, his strides fast and quick. "Are you all right?" he asks with concern. "What's happened? Jesus, your shaking! Come." He slips one arm around my back, pushing me towards his office, his anxious gaze on nothing else but my face.

 _Double take that. He does want to see me for lunch._

"I... I just thought that we could have lunch together," I get out breathlessly, and everything feels so right and as if its how its meant to be when he closes his office door. "I haven't heard from you all week and so I thought that..."

"- I've been incredibly busy with work." He rubs his hand up and down my side, soothing me.

"But not too busy to have lunch, right?" I smile at him glumly while lifting up the grocery bag. "I thought we could have a picnic together?"

"Well, I don't know about that," he mutters, glancing towards the window of his office. "It's raining heavily outside now." _Oh, God. He's so adorable._

"No, not outside, silly. In your _office_."

Christian takes his arm away from my back and the loss of contact, it literally pains me. He rakes a hand through his hair, his face... conflicted. Torn. "I don't actually think we can do that today. I have a meeting in barely under fifteen minutes, Anastasia."

"Oh. But I drove all the way here? _And_ I got some salmon. Salmon isn't exactly cheap nowadays, and with someone on my such meager wage..."

He licks his lips, his head slightly tilted to the side as he considers. Then he moves to the door, opening it, calling out, "Cancel my next meeting, Andrea."

"But sir, it's too much short notice to-"

"-Just do it!" he shouts at her, sounding like a Mr Bossy Boots. It's so hot. He closes the door, coming to stand in front of me. "I cancelled the next meeting. I suppose we can have that picnic in here after all, Miss Steele."

I try to suppress a grin, my heart palpitating with happiness.

 _Oh, Christian. Good choice._

 **Hope you enjoyed this one? Things are getting crazy. I've been listening to the song Number 1 Crush by Garbage as inspiration. I think it sums up Ana's feeling quite well in this story lol.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Thank you so much for your alerts and the reviews. They mean a lot.**

 **This story, again, is not to be taken seriously. It's meant to be outlandish and crazy and, yes, a little creepy too. Hope you enjoy nevertheless.**

* * *

 **Chapter 10**

"I think your assistant likes you," I say, a bit maliciously, as I move towards his desk.

There's a few papers on his desk already and his open laptop, but I don't care. I sit the grocery bag on top of the papers, pushing my hands inside to unload out the ingredients. Hopefully we won't get food poisoning since I had the salmon in the car for a little over four hours, but oh well. The risk of food poisoning is well worth it, if it means sharing lunch with him.

"I don't think so. Andrea's been employed at my company for over a year now."

 _Hmm, she's been working for him for over a year? All the more reason for her to like him... Not that I could blame her, of course. But I have a feeling things will get nasty for her very quickly if she persists in getting in my way of Christian._

I turn to look at Christian while he stands there as I start unwrapping the salmon from in the paper. He's watching me.

"That's a lot of salmon for two people, don't you think?" he remarks dryly.

"Maybe." I glance down at the huge chunk salmon myself. _Okay, so maybe a kilo of salmon was going a bit overboard?_ "Well, I thought it would be nice anyway. Rice crackers with spread cream cheese and slices of salmon. That sounds nice for our lunch, don't you think?" I press my lips together as I search in the bag again, finding the stainless steel carving knife I brought with me from home.

Christian takes in a loud intake of breath. "How did you get past security with that thing?"

"No one bothered to stop me to check my bag. Not even the security guard near the entrance," I inform him, a little haughtily. "That's not very good, Mr Grey. I would seriously consider that you have a word with your buildings security team. What if someone came into your office with the intention of murdering you with a knife and yet, your security team did nothing to stop them?"

 _Wow, way to freak him out, Ana, by implying you intend to murder him..._

When I peer up at him through my eyelashes, I see him watching me very carefully as I start slicing the salmon into neat little pieces, my hand guiding the sharpest edge of the blade along the pink flesh of the salmon almost effortlessly. He seems both amused and impressed. To be honest, I don't blame him for being impressed; I've always had wicked knife skills.

"And is _that_ truly why you're here, Miss Steele?" He steps closer towards me, his lips pressed together to stifle a smile. His eyes are dancing, like we're playing a flirtatious game. "You've come here to murder me with that knife you're using?"

 _Thank God, he seems to appreciate my sense of humor. He doesn't seem to mind us joking about being serial killers._

"Not today, Mr Grey," I mutter teasingly, playing along. "I don't have that... homicidal urge in me today, so you can consider yourself lucky." _At least, not that homicidal urge for you. Your assistant Andrea however..._ "No, _today_ I'm just here for our picnic."

I'm kidding, of course. I'm not some crazy psycho killer. I can't even squash a fly or spray insect killer on a bug without mourning for it and crying as it writhes in pain and slowly dies afterwards.

"Is there something I can do?" he asks.

"Sure. You can spread the cream cheese on the crackers?" I suggest, jerking my chin towards the packet.

We fall into a silence, each of us busying ourselves with preparing our lunch on his desk. It's so peacefully domestic, and I can't help wondering if this will be how it is once we're married; I'll be the dedicated 50's housewife, slaving away for her hubby and enjoying every single second of it while he helps with the meal as well. _Oh, God. We're like a married couple already..._

He isn't very good at slathering the cream cheese on the crackers though. He's messy and he gets it all over his fingers- not that I'm not totally tempted to lick the cream cheese off his fingers, of course. It's obvious he doesn't cook very much or prepare his own meals. His buttering skills are lacking. But he's rich and no doubt, he has paid servants to prepare his meals. I suppose I can't fault him for that.

"Is he your boyfriend?" he asks me out of nowhere, disturbing our domestic silence.

 _Is he my boyfriend? Huh?_

"Who?"

"The photographer that took pictures of me at the Heathman that morning? Jose?"

 _Jose? He thinks Jose is my boyfriend? Eww._ The question alone leaves an acerbic tang in my mouth. "Definitely not," I laugh out, unnerved at the idea. "Jose's just a friend, but a really... annoying one."

"Are you sure he knows that? That you two are just friends?" His voice goes different; It's aggressive, somehow. "I've seen the way he looks at you. He's obsessed with you."

"God, no. Jose and I have known each other since freshman year. He's like a brother. And besides..." I hesitate, wondering if I should say it. A part of me suspects it would be a little too creepy for him to handle. But then I decide, what's the point in hiding it? "I've been sort of waiting for someone special. _Someone_ in particular."

I lift my gaze, finding him staring at me intently. _Does he know its him I'm referring to? How can he not?_

"And who might that be?"

 _Oh, my God!_ I feel like throwing the knife at the wall, I'm that frustrated. _Is he serious?_

"I think we both _already_ know the answer to that, don't we, Christian?"

 _You,_ I think as I stare straight back into his eyes. _I've been waiting for you. For over eight months, Christian. I don't want Jose or anybody else, I just want you. You, as my husband, the father of my children. Just like how it should be, how it has to be..._

 _You and me... together._

"Do _you_ have a girlfriend, Christian?" I force myself to ask, despite already knowing the answer. Of course he doesn't have one, aside from me. _I'm_ going to be his girlfriend, his one and only. It's only a matter of time now.

"No, I don't," he clarifies, sounding a little frustrated. "But its as I told you before. I don't _do_ the whole girlfriend thing."

My fingers clench and tighten over the handle of the knife dangerously. _He really needs to stop saying that._

"Why don't you do the whole girlfriend thing?" It amazes me that I can ask without sounding as if I'm angry.

He hesitates, seemingly stuck on how to explain. "I just... don't." He sighs loudly, shaking his head. "That just isn't... me. I'm looking for a very... _specific_ type of relationship."

 _Specific_ type of relationship? What's that supposed to mean? Is there even such a thing that exists?

"Do you want children?" I ask, unable to help myself. At least I didn't ask him outright if he wanted to have _my_ children. Besides, discussing these things are very important for any future relationship, right?

"That's a very strange question. I can't say I have ever needed to think about that before, whether I've wanted to have a family."

 _Wrong answer,_ I think.

"But something tells me that I would make a terrible father." _Oh, Christian. You're so wrong on that. You're going to be such a wonderful devoted husband and father, both to me and our kids._ "How many boyfriends have you had, Miss Steele?"

My heart races at the question _. Why does he want to know that? Will he think I'm weird if I answer truly?_

"Zero," I answer, because I know honesty is a very important part of a relationship. "I've really had... no boyfriends." I'm not game enough to look up at him.

"Oh. And why's that?" Fortunately, he just sounds shocked. Shocked and a little disbelieving. "How come you haven't been with anyone?"

Because maybe I'm nuts. Because maybe I get too attached and clingy. Of course, I can't put it quite like that, out of fear of turning him off me completely. But how to answer that without freaking him out? That's the problem.

"I'm not sure why I haven't had a boyfriend before," I admit with a little laugh. "But I think its mainly because, I know that when I'm finally _with_ someone, I'll be diving in with two feet. All my life, I suppose I have been very... aggressive. When I like someone and I want them, I just need to be... around them _every single hour_ of the day. I need to know _everything_ about them, and I need to be _close_ to them. I have to invest one hundred and ten percent of myself into whatever relationships I have. I suppose some people call that being clingy or... obsessive. I think its why I haven't had many friends, either. I've been told that I can be a little... intense and strong."

I feel my cheeks flush at what I'm telling him. Have I said too much? Probably, knowing me.

"And sometimes there is nothing wrong with that," Christian says, and it makes me feel like my heart is souring. He understands, just like I knew he would. He understands me perfectly. "I tend to get a little... like that myself."

"Oh, really?" I peer up at him, my interest spiked. "So you tend to get a little... obsessed about certain things yourself?"

"Yes," he admits, then he backtracks, tilting his head. "Well, not about _people_ , exactly. But I know what its like to throw yourself into something, to... invest all of yourself and all of your energy into something."

 _Is he hinting that he's doing that with me? That he's obsessed with me?_

"Like my business, for instance," he continues, and my heart sinks. _Damn, so he isn't talking about me._ "I am fully invested both emotionally and personally into my company. But then again, I think that is how every smart businessman needs to be. He needs to be fully passionate and committed about his business in order for it to flourish and succeed in the cooperate world."

 _And where do I fit into all of this?_ I think. _When will you start being fully passionate and committed about me and us?_

"Well, I don't have a business, of course, Christian. But that's... how I feel when it comes to relationships. So I think I can understand where you're coming from."

Something changes after what I say. I sense a weird chemical change or shift in the air as he lays the butter knife flat onto the desk, ignoring the cream cheese and the crackers for lunch. He steps towards me, still staring directly into my eyes, something almost sexily foreboding and menacing taking over in both his expression and body movement. What the hell is he doing?

It's as if the atmosphere between us has shifted somehow, that its filled with electricity and fire and danger. His eyes seem to darken as I lay the carving knife down onto the table, turning towards him. He reminds me of a predator, like a... a billionaire serial killer in a suit or a lion about to devour me whole. _How sexy is that?_

I bite my bottom lip, and his eyes drop to it, his mouth parting slightly. I hear him breathing in a ragged, urgent way due to it, as if he can't get much oxygen in.

"You bit my lip," he mutters, barely above a strained whisper. "Now I want to bite _yours_ , Miss Steele. It's payback time."

"So _do it_ , Christian." The words leave my mouth in a desperate, careless whisper. I'm taunting him, beckoning him. "Bite me then. Make me pay."

The inner Gollum in me is crying out, _I needs it. I wants it from Master._

He brings up his hand to touch my chin, rubbing his thumb along my bottom lip, making me release it from my teeth. A sharp intake of breath leaves me, and I can feel my body quivering uncontrollably as I'm forced to lean back against his desk. My hands instinctively move behind me to rest flat on his desk, supporting me from falling when he steps in front of me. One shoe goes between my feet, and then he bends a little with his knee, making me feel him _right there_ through my dress with his leg. It's lucky I have firm control over myself or else I'd be like a horny dog, humping myself against him.

This is like _the best_ thing that has ever happened to me. My dreams have become such a reality lately, it's quite overwhelming. I've wanted him for months and now, here he is, so close with his body, touching me, his leg held up against me.

He strokes my bottom lip with his thumb again, and I feel the cream cheese he had on his finger smear against it. I open my mouth, licking, and my tongue brushes against the tip of his thumb, and I taste cream cheese and his skin. A shaky breath leaves him.

"You don't want to fuck with me, Anastasia," he breathes in a raw, hoarse tone, his breathing harsh and disjointed. "I don't think you realize how dangerous this game that your playing is."

"Right back at you," I whisper, and I moan when, suddenly, his mouth is on mine, rough and demanding. _Just as it should be._ I think I've fantasized about this moment over twenty times; him, wanting me so desperately, kissing me.

I moan again against his lips dreamily, and he uses it to his advantage in thrusting his warm, slippery tongue into my mouth. Christian's saliva- as I've imagined- is delicious, and I get so wrapped up in the moment, scraping my tongue back and forth against his.

When his tongue leaves my mouth, he catches my bottom lip between his, sucking, scraping with his teeth. Then he sinks his teeth into me viciously, and another moan leaves me, but this time its one mingled with both pleasure and pain. A sharp shooting pain sears through my lip and when he pulls back to peer down at me, I lift my fingers, dabbing them at my lip and hissing at the pain. My fingers come back wet and red and, surely enough, I'm bleeding.

He really did it, in biting my lip, giving me his delicious form of payback. _And how hot is that?_

"Mmm," I moan, my eyes on nothing else but his as I flick my tongue over the open split in my bottom lip all thanks to him biting me, relishing the sting and the taste of my own blood.

His face is slack with arousal, his eyes dark and pupils dilated as they stare at my tongue as I lap up the blood again. _Ana Steele, the vampire masochist_. He breathes in such a shaky, rapid way. I turn him on. I can just tell.

"You're a very strange woman, Miss Steele," he says, and it's as if he's jabbed a hole into my heart. My mind goes into overdrive at that. _Oh, shit. He finds me strange? In what way? A good strange or a bad strange? Please be a good strange!_ "Quite possibility the most strangest woman I have ever met."

"Oh," I whisper in disappointment, turning away from him. _Of course he thinks I'm strange. Why couldn't I just have held it in a little longer?_

"But I'll be the first one to admit that I'm a little strange myself," he goes on, mainly talking to himself, I think. "I find you so sexy in an extremely kinky way. What have you done to me?"

It's like my entire body has lit up like a Christmas tree of hope. _He finds me sexy? Did he just say he finds me sexy in an extremely kinky way?_

"Now, Miss Steele. I want you to do something for me."

My entire body sits up and takes notice. Oh, Christian. You want me to do something for you? _Anything_. I'd do _anything_ for you, even going to jail. Can't you see?

"Yes?" I breathe in excitement.

"I want you to go sit behind my desk in my chair," he says, and his voice is different. It's like he is ordering me.

"Um. Okay?" It's a weird request, but I do as he says. I move around his desk, sitting in his office recliner. It's really comfy. I could just sit in it all day. When I look up at him, I see that he is removing his tie from around his neck, sliding it off. _What the hell?_ "Are you going to take off all your clothes, Mr Grey?" I ask, my intestines bouncing with glee. "Are we going to make love in your office now?" It's a bit unexpected, but hey, I'm perfectly fine by that. _So long as he doesn't mind my legs being a little hairy under the stockings..._

"Is that what you think is going to happen, Miss Steele?" he asks, coming towards me, the tie in his hands. There's humor shining in his eyes, excitement. "Do you think I'm going to take you in my office?"

I have no idea what's happening, to be honest.

I stare up at him in confusion as he stands before me, looking down at me. Then he moves behind the chair. "Put your hands behind the chair."

I do it without hesitation, and then he starts tying my hands up with his tie, really tight. A surge of adrenaline courses through me as I try to pull them free, the fabric chafing against my wrists in a pleasurably painful way. _Wow, what is happening right now?_ I've admittedly daydreamed about Christian Grey, but not like this.

Usually, in my daydreams of us, he confesses to his love for me and then we do the deed. In many places; On top of the washing machine while its on, vibrating against my bare behind. In the air, floating towards the ceiling because we both have special powers that enables us to fly. In a car. Against a window while a long line of random people in the street watch us, thinking how perfectly suited we are to each other as we bring each other to orgasm at the same time.

Yes, I'm a little dirty-minded. But who isn't?

Christian moves around his desk, grabbing the cream cheese spread crackers and the sliced salmon. He assembles a few crackers, putting salmon on top of them. Then he moves to stand in front of the chair again while bringing one of the crackers over to me, looking down at me. There's a darkness there in his expression. I realize this turns him on; Me, bound to his chair with my hands tied.

And to be completely honest, while this is... different than any fantasy involving him that I've had, it turns me on, too. There's just a certain way that he looks, like a predator, a killer, that turns me on like nobodies business. My heart is pounding as he stands directly in front of me, so close that his legs are between mine, my gaze eye-level to his groin in his trousers because I'm sitting, him standing. He looks like he wants to murder me in sinfully delightful ways with... a cracker?

"I'm going to feed you now," he pants in a low, strained voice.

 _Feed me? What? Am I a baby or something?_

My hands instinctively pull on the tie restraining them as he brings the cracker to his mouth, biting into it. He doesn't eat it, though; He holds a large piece between his lips, and it's so hot. He bends down, putting his face inches away from mine, and I'm panting. I make a weird squeaking sound when he moves close enough that the piece of cracker nudges my lips, and I open them. He pushes the cracker into my mouth with his tongue, and I am forced to eat it how I am, bound with my hands by his tie to his office chair, feeling very much like a baby bird being fed by its mommy bird as it regurgitates the food into my mouth. _Oh, my._ This is so unexpected, so oddly sexual and arousing.

"You want more?" he whispers after I swallow the cracker down when finished chewing.

My panties feel drenched, like I'm a pregnant woman and my water has just broken. There's just so much... wetness by what he's doing. So much heat.

I lick my lips, feeling like I have cream cheese on them. "Yes, please," I pant, my voice sounding odd and husky, as if I'm a chain-smoker with a three pack a day habit. "I feel that the cream cheese and the salmon go together extremely well, don't you?"

* * *

Twenty minutes later, when I get into the car to make the long drive back to the apartment with Kate, I feel so weird. My brain is swiped of literally everything, as if I've just had my memory or any previous coherent thought erased by one of the Men in Black character's neutralizer pens.

 _Wow. What the hell just happened with Christian in his office?_

When I get home and pull up into the driveway, my mind is still devoid of any thought. I feel really exhausted and drained mentally- but in a very good way. When I get inside, I find Kate sitting on the couch, eating a sandwich while watching the TV. I feel like I'm all blushy when she turns to look at me curiously.

"Hey, Ana. Where have you been? Did you get called in to do a shift at Clayton's?"

"Um, no. I went and had lunch with Christian." I can't even look her directly in the eyes as I say it.

"What?" She sits up, her mouth popping open. "He asked you out to lunch, Ana?"

"Not exactly, Kate." Why do I sound so guilty? "I sort of just... showed up with lunch for us."

"Oh no, Ana." _Ah, now I know why I feel guilty._ It's because Kate is going to be lecturing me now. "How many times have I told you? Turning up at the guy you are interested in's workplace is _total_ creepiness. You were meant to wait for _him_ to ask you out to lunch!"

"Well, I'm very pleased to tell you that it went really well, Kate. He didn't mind at all. If anything, he seemed to... appreciate the gesture."

"He did?" she asks slowly, arching her brows in disbelief. "Well, _clearly_ he isn't your normal, average guy then. Normally a man feels unnerved by that sort of thing. He mustn't play by the same rules as the regular guy then."

"Oh, you can say that again," I mutter under my breath with a little laugh. Great, I'm blushing again, all thanks to remembering him feeding me like a bird. I can _just tell_ that I'm red as a lobster.

"What's with the face, Ana?"

"He fed me," I admit breathlessly with a grin.

"What? He fed you? What do you mean?"

"Like he... he tied me to his chair and fed me, Kate." She blinks at me slowly, her eyes wide. Kate looks weirded-out by that, which is something I am sort of already expecting. "It was _so_ sexy!"

She chucks her half-eaten sandwich back onto her plate, making a face. "I don't get it. Why are you _so thrilled_ by that? It sounds so... weird, Ana? But _obviously_ you look as though you enjoyed every second of it?"

"And I did. I really, _really_ did, Kate."

"I don't know." She shakes her head, sitting up to plop her plate down onto the coffee table, her appetite evidently gone due to the news. "I just really _don't know_ about you sometimes, Ana."

"What, Kate? Are saying I'm crazy? I'm crazy because I enjoyed him feeding me lunch while I was tied up?" She shifts on the couch to face me, sitting Indian-style, and its then that I see the bruised, circular mark on her neck. "Um, what's going on with your neck, Kate?"

It's her turn to blush. Kate rarely blushes. "Elliot came over last night."

"What? How come I didn't know that?"

"That's because I sneaked him in through the window last night while you were sleeping."

 _Wow. Kate and my brother-in-law._ "Is it serious between you two?"

"What? Ana, we basically only just met a week ago. We're just having fun. He's really good in the bedroom department, by the way."

"Eww, Kate. I really don't want to hear how my brother-in-law is in the bedroom department."

"Brother-in-law?" she repeats incredulously. "Wow. Getting a bit ahead of yourself, aren't you, Ana?"

"Well, that _is_ what he's going to be. Once Christian and I get married, of course." How exciting. Kate, my best friend, will end up marrying Elliot, and I'll marry Christian.

 _Talk about keeping it in the family..._

 **Hope you enjoyed this one. Or is it too crazy? If there is anything that you would like to happen, feel free to let me know. Don't worry, Ana will tone down a lot in the next few chapters. She won't be totally crazy- as in she won't commit murder or anything horrible like that. She mainly means well, despite coming off as a Bunny Boiler at times. And Christian, he'll be getting a bit crazier himself. They both don't mind each other's craziness.**


	11. Chapter 11

_**Thank you so much. Hope you enjoy this one :)**_

 _ **Chapter 11**_

 _"Stalking is when two people go for a long romantic walk together but only one of them knows about it..."_

 ** _CPOV:_**

Anastasia goes to work at Clayton's hardware store for five hour shifts on Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays. Sometimes, she works on those other days if she gets called in suddenly because she just sat her finals at the University and she's available for more shifts. Sometimes she goes to the grocery store at ridiculous hours in the night, dressed in just her nightgown and ugg boots, to buy milk. This week, it was milk _and_ tampons.

But above all of that, what she loves to do the most every single fucking morning, at seven thirty right on the dot, is to go jogging. Frankly, I admire her dedication to keeping that lithe, firm body of hers in great condition- not that she needs it, of course, judging by the selfie of herself in that bikini on Facebook that I now have saved as my screensaver on my laptop.

And how do I know all of this?

I employed a PI to watch her during the week, tracing her every whereabouts and movements. I've got a lot of cash; It isn't hard to get some old guy to watch her. My private investigator Barney Sullivan has been my go-to-guy for a long time, ever since my business began and fully flourished. Usually he keeps an eye on the competition in the corporate world, informing me of anything I need to know. He hasn't ever had an assignment by me to spy on anyone strictly non-business related before, but just as I suspected, the fucker never let me down on his latest assignment to tail Miss Steele.

Sure, it's illegal and a gross invasion of her privacy, but I am sure everyone has done this at one point or another when they like someone and are interested in getting to know every facet of them; Their daily schedule, who they hang around with. Or, well...if they could and if they had the money for it like I do, I'm positive this sort of shit would be happening a lot more regularly.

But I don't need a PI to watch over her this weekend. Today is a Saturday and early in the morning hours at 2 am, I get started on the drive to Washington. Why so early? Tired as I am, I just loathe the thought of missing Miss Steele in exercising action. Barney had taken pictures of Miss Steele- at the store where she works, grocery shopping, jogging- and I decided that it was now time I see Anastasia in the flesh myself ever since she surprised me by dropping into my office for lunch.

When I reach her apartment, I park two doors down on the opposite side of the road, waiting.

It's still fairly dark at this time, being 5 am in the morning and, as far as I can tell, there is no sign of activity whatsoever coming from Miss Steele in her bedroom. Just my luck- _and is she doing it on purpose to tempt me_?- she leaves her curtains open so that I can see straight through them into her room if I squint hard enough.

I switch on the stereo, putting one of my mixed CD's in with music tracks that I burned onto the disk personally myself. The music occupies my mind while I wait, thank fuck for that, otherwise I'd probably fall asleep right against the steering wheel and miss her by the time she sets off on her daily morning run. Obsession by Animotion starts playing, and I crank up the music so loud to the point where the thumping bass starts hurting my ears. It's needed, though. I can't risk falling asleep, not even for a second.

I have to watch the enigma that is Anastasia Steele while she jogs. I have to be vigilant.

I yawn loudly, rubbing my eyes. Fortunately I came prepared. I reach towards the console, grabbing the thermos of coffee that I had prepared earlier and packed with me for the long drive ahead of me. Opening up the flap to take a sip, I glance up towards Miss Steele's bedroom window again.

 _What the fuck?_

I almost spray a mouthful of coffee onto the dashboard when I see that Miss Steele is up now. A lamp must be on in her room which she switched on seconds ago, bathing her room in a yellow glow. I can see everything so perfectly now. What's more, I can now see _her_.

"Good morning, Miss Steele," I mutter under my breath, entranced by what she's doing.

She stands, stretching her arms out in front of her. She's letting me into her world freely, welcoming me in as an unknown spectator. The underwear she wears looks... weird. Over-sized and baggy, like an adult diaper. Saggy around the crotch area. What the fuck? I try to look closer, my nose near the glass. But then it occurs to me that it isn't adult diapers she is wearing. Oh, no, the underwear looks weird on her because it is... _men's_ underwear. I thought she told me she didn't have a boyfriend? Was she lying about that? Obviously not, if she's wearing some guys underwear. Hopefully that underwear doesn't belong to douche-bag Jose Rodriguez.

The underwear looks strangely familiar though. I've seen that underwear before. Where? Why is it so familiar?

I'm left bereft when she disappears out of the room, concealing herself from my view. I consider driving off, but luckily for me, my patience wins out and pays off in the end. She emerges out the front door about half an hour later, dressed in a baggy hoodie jacket and tight leggings to run in. She slips in the earbuds to her Ipod and turns towards the front steps, bending down, touching both tips of her shoes with her fingers. The way I've positioned myself in the car turns out to be perfect.

The sight is... phenomenal and I get a front row view. Where the fuck is some popcorn when you need it? She bends down, stretching, the black Lycra material of her leggings clinging to every inch of her slender thighs and the gorgeous, round shape of her ass as she wiggles slightly to keep her balance.

 _Jesus._ I whistle through my teeth. _She's really going to be the death of me._

My phone starts buzzing in my pocket. I pull it out, checking caller I.D. Elena. Elena's calling me. Tough titties, I decide, ignoring her call. I have far more important things to do right now, like watching Miss Steele's ass while she runs along the block. Elena can wait until later.

Anastasia starts jogging and, automatically, I start the car, ignoring my phone as it goes off for the second time. I need to follow. I can't lose her for a second. I signal back out onto the road, my jeans unbearably tight as my cock aches and engorges at the sight of her.

She runs past a homeless man collecting rubbish out of a bin and, I'm not bullshitting, the fucker actually stops what he is doing and turns to watch her ass cheeks strain against the sheer fabric of her leggings as she runs. It's infuriating. Does she not know what she's doing? She's practically putting her firm derriere on display for just any sick fuck out there to look at.

She jogs past a group of men opening up their store and _again_ , the fuckers do a double take at her. One even makes a crude gesture at her back and it makes my blood boil. If she was mine, I can guarantee it that she would never wear those leggings out in public ever again. If she was mine, she would be reduced to wearing a burlap sack with arm and leg holes. Maybe even a ski mask over her face or a burqa so that no one can see her _but me_.

I'm practically doing her a favor by following her anyway, just in case some predator gets it into his twisted, deluded head to follow her and try something on her. Anastasia should be thanking me. I'm practically being her secret bodyguard, and she doesn't even pay me for this shit.

I stomp on the gas, speeding past her. Then I stop at the corner of the street, shifting back in the seat to watch the front view of her as she goes past. Her red cheeks puff out as she breathes heavily, a few loose strands of her dark hair blowing around her face. For some reason I'm not sure of, my eyes are drawn to her trainers as she runs light on her feet.

 _Now I'm mad. Like palm-twitchingly mad._

Her shoelace is undone and I don't even think she knows it is. It's a disaster just waiting to happen. If there is one thing that I have learned about Miss Steele quickly, it is that she evidently has a total lack of care when it comes to her own safety. Who the fuck keeps running when their shoelace is undone? Doesn't she realize the dangers of that? Does she not realize how much of a tripping hazard that shoelace is?

I'm tempted to just pull out onto the side of the road, run over to her, catch her, and take her over my knee for her sheer lack of sensibility. Considering the way she reacted so positively to what I did to her in my office by force-feeding her sexually, I'd say she wouldn't mind it even if I _did_ spank her.

Does she not realize that, any second now, she could fucking trip over on that long shoelace and fall face first on the pavement? That she could cause lacerations to her face, all because of that stupid shoelace?

She pulls her Ipod out of her pocket, her thumb at work as she scrolls through her selection of songs. That action alone seems to piss me off even more. Now that Ipod, combined with that shoelace, is going to become a real serious problem. She almost runs into a man walking his dog due to being too distracted on what's on that little screen and _does she seriously not have any sense of self preservation at all?_

 _Fuck it._ I pull over to the side of the road, throwing off my seat belt.

If I was Superman, I'd be ripping off my shirt, baring my red-and-blue costume as I break out into a run, following her from behind. I _feel like_ fucking Superman running after Louis Lane, about to swoop her up and save her from the big bad world and all of planet Earth's residential perverts as I stare at her ass and the way her ponytail swings back and forth as she runs. No, not Superman. Who am I kidding?

The closer I reach her, the more I feel sick inside, like a serial killer with Anastasia as my next victim. I feel dirty, like I'm hunting her, like I'm about to yank on her ponytail and fling her to the ground. Or maybe just spank that ass, since it seems to be calling for me to do it, like her gorgeous buttocks has a voice of its own and its begging me to do it.

 **ANA POV:**

I really do love running of a morning. People mention about getting a runners high, an endorphin rush- and for me, its totally true. It's addictive and I feel as if I'm invincible as I jog around the street, Rihanna's S&M blaring in my earphones.

 _"I may be bad but I'm perfectly good at it... Sticks and stones may break my bones but chains and whips excite me..."_

I focus on nothing else but the music as I breathe in and out, my mind drifting off. The lyrics make me think of my dream man for some reason. I imagine Christian whipping me and feeding me with my hands bound with his tie behind his chair like he had in his office, and damn it, already I'm blushing. Admittedly, I always tend to zone off, daydreaming about Christian when I listen to certain songs. It makes the hour of exercise go that quicker.

I've just reached the end of the street when I feel someone tap my behind with their hand. It isn't painful or anything like that, but it startles me so badly that I jump, whipping around to face the person while tearing out my earphones. My heart freezes as the person stands in front of me, breathing deeply, catching their breath from running as well.

 _Holy tuna fish, it's my husband! Here, now, while I jog! How?_

"Christian?" I pant in shock, breathing laboriously. "Why... how are you here?" _Wow, real eloquent, Ana. Blubbering like a baby._

His gray eyes shine with irritation as he peers down at my shoes for some reason. "Your shoelace is undone, Anastasia." Wow, he's angry. And a little sweaty... Has he been running behind me this whole time? "Did you even realize that?"

"What?" I peer down at my shoes myself, only just realizing one of my long purple shoelaces is undone. "Oh. Oops. I didn't even-"

"- Yes, and it'll be more than just oops when you fall over and break something." It's like he is chiding me, like I'm a little girl and he is my parent. "May I?"

Before I can even so much as answer, Christian gets down on one knee, pulling my laces tight and tying them in a double knot. My mind drifts off, and I just can't help it. Since he is on one knee, I can't help imagining him proposing to me like how he is now.

"There we go," he mutters appreciatively, tearing me out of my trip into fantasy land. "You should really be more careful, Anastasia. Your very lucky that you didn't trip over and hurt yourself."

He stands and my heart sinks as the image of him proposing to me disperses well and truly.

"Why are you here, Christian?" I ask breathlessly in confusion. "I didn't think that you were staying locally at the Heathman still?"

"I wasn't. I'm not."

 _Yes, and I already knew that. I may have went to the hotel asking whether he still had a room booked there out of mere curiosity..._

"But I'm in the area for... business purposes."

 _Oh, damn. And here I was, just hoping he had come all the way here to see me..._

I find it odd, him saying that. He isn't even dressed in a suit. He's dressed casually for the morning, in dark jeans and a dark long-sleeved sweater that clings to him, so tight it gives off an imprint of his toned abdominal muscles and biceps. Hell, he's even wearing blue latex gloves on both hands and yet, he dares to say he's here for business? He more so looks like someone in the business of getting their hands sexily dirty rather than gearing up to attend a conference meeting.

"Do you really think its safe to be wearing that?" he mutters, his eyes roaming down my leggings.

"What?" _Why shouldn't I be wearing them? Oh, God. Is he trying to say I look fat in them? I'm like the next everyday average girl with cellulite. Can he see cellulite?_

"If I were you, I wouldn't wear those out in public ever again, Anastasia," he says, a note of warning in his low tone. "A burlap sack perhaps, but not... _those_." Christian's eyes linger on my calves in the leggings, and I glance down at my legs self-consciously. "What are you doing later tonight?"

It's like a mind screw of massive proportions. Huh? My dream man goes one second hinting at how frumpy I look in my leggings, offending me, and then, in the next, he's asking me what I'm doing?

"Why do you want to know what I'm doing later, Christian?" I ask, my offense showing. "You know, I'm a little annoyed by your audacity. First, hinting that I look fat in-"

"- What?" he butts over me, panting a little. "Fuck, no. I wasn't meaning to imply that I thought you were fat, Anastasia. Far from it. I just mean that those-" He pauses for a moment, his expression conflicted, as if he doesn't know how to explain himself properly. He rakes a hand through his hair, squinting a little at my thighs. "They just make it so hard to-" He stops himself again, shaking his head. When he finally speaks, he levels a dark, heated gaze onto me, his expression intense, "It's just that... if you were mine, you _wouldn't be_ wearing anything like that in front of _anyone_." The words are almost a growl spoken through clenched teeth, like how Batman sounds when wearing his mask. It's hot.

 _But if I was his?_ The Gollum inside me shrieks loudly in glee. So does my inner fan-girl. _I _alr_ eady am his! _

"I mean, I..." He hesitates, swallowing loudly. "I'll pick you up at eight. I know where you live. Be ready by then or else I'll come inside and physically remove you from your bedroom myself."

I'm left staring after him, stunned, as he runs off towards a car parked across the street. He gets in it, and as he drives away, the tires squeal loudly with the speed and he skids around a corner out of sight.

It takes me a long second for my mind to digest properly what has happened. _He's picking me up at eight!_

 ** _Hope you enjoyed this one? Date night coming up next ;) Thank you so much for the lovely reviews and alerts I have received. Glad you still find it humorous despite its craziness._**


	12. Chapter 12

**Thank you so much. Hope you enjoy this one.**

 **Chapter 12**

Kate helps me get prepared for my date with Christian. I know, it may be a little presumptuous, calling it a date- well, that's what Kate said it was anyway considering how he hadn't clarified on whether this was a date or not- but if you're going out to have dinner with a man and stuff food into your mouth, then usually its a date, right?

I shaved my legs and under my armpits earlier, because Kate and I both decided that the best course of action would be to wear a dress. My dress is knee-length with a modest neckline; a deep blue with floral red prints on it. Kate recommended I wear it because its both cute and quirky and that wearing a plunging neckline dress that shows off too much cleavage would make me look like a smelly pirate hooker- a look I am so not going for.

I want him to view me as wife material, not some girl he hooks up with on a one-night stand. Nevertheless, this is really important to me. I'm not even wearing his underwear today, which is something I have been doing regularly ever since I stole them. No, tonight- Kate's orders- I'm wearing pretty lace panties, just in case we have sex.

I tread into the shoes Kate told me would go really well with the dress, which is a pair of red stilettos that I won't even be able to walk in properly. I'm going to look like a baby giraffe, stumbling all over the place, but Kate insisted, and Kate knows better about fashion than I ever would.

She shoves me into our small bathroom, turning on the hair straightener to do my hair. Then she decides she wants to play make-up artist and I feel like a Barbie doll as she smears foundation and shimmery stuff onto my cheeks. She almost stabs me in the eye with an eyeliner pencil, but that's okay, because a little pain never hurt anyone.

"How you feeling?" she asks while she attacks me with my red lipstick, dotting my lips with it.

"Incredibly nervous," I admit in an unsteady voice. "What if I burp in front of him? What if I drink something gassy and I burp?"

"Then you just apologize and be all ladylike, Ana," she says, like its that simple.

She starts brushing out my hair, putting it into sections, and I get a glimpse of myself in the mirror. _Oh, God. I look overdone and somehow, Kate has managed to get lipstick over the corner of my lip. Great. Now I look like the Joker._

"What?" she asks slowly in confusion. "You don't like it?"

"Kate, its _way too much_ lipstick," I complain in horror. "I look like the Joker!"

"No, you don't," she argues back. "You just look like someone who has had a lip filler injection, that's all." She sighs loudly, getting impatient with me. "What, Ana? You look cute!"

 _A lip filler injection? God, is that supposed to make me feel better?_

"You just need to try to relax, okay? If it goes badly, then it isn't the end of the world."

"Um, yes it is, Kate. It is the end of the world to me, and I don't want to look like a clown, okay?"

"But you don't! It looks really, really good!" A part of me suspects Kate wants the date to fail, although I know that's mean of me. She has always been supportive of me. "I still don't get it," she says quietly, starting off some private conversation in her own head.

"Get what?"

"How he magically appeared out of nowhere while you were jogging this morning, Ana? It's a little... weird, like he was following you?"

"I don't even care if he _was_ following me, Kate." That may sound crazy, but its true. Christian Grey could be stalking me for all I knew and, because its him, I wouldn't mind it. "He did say he was here on business though."

"Yeah, but... didn't you say he was wearing latex gloves?"

Oh, I had almost forgotten about that. "Yeah, he was wearing latex gloves. He so was."

"Don't you think that's a bit strange? Like he was following you, and he was intending to murder you or something? Latex gloves are totally used for concealing DNA?"

"I hardly think Christian Grey is a serial killer, Kate." If he was, he could murder me any day of the week. I would be a very willing passive victim. I probably would even surrender willingly and orgasm while he's throttling me. Is that freaky of me?

We hear a car horn honk four times and we both rush over to the window to look out. Crap, he's here!

"Wow, he's super early," Kate points out while staring at the time on the wall clock. "It's only seven o'clock and he said he'd pick you up at eight thirty?"

"Is that a good sign?" I ask her nervously. "If a man picks you up early for your date, is that good or bad?" Usually Kate is the go-to girl for dating advice. She's a serial dater.

Kate bites her lip, considering. "Well, he's almost an hour and a half early. That shows he's a little... impatient and needy."

 _Impatient and needy. He's impatient and needy to see me. He realizes how perfect we are._

My heart starts beating like a drum when he honks the horn in the car again. "Shit, Kate. What do I do?"

"Well, he's here, isn't he?"

"Okay. I should go." I practice the breathing techniques I learned in a yoga class Kate and I did together once, for relaxation purposes. Apparently breathing is vital. I find my purse, shoving it over my shoulder. "I'm so nervous, Kate! My whole future literally depends on this moment!"

Kate follows me to the door, grabbing me by the shoulders. "Remember what we discussed earlier?" After I had told her the news, Kate had told me a few firm guidelines that I should abide by.

"Yes. No gushing or proclaiming my love for him," I announce, repeating our words. "Suave. Be suave and mysterious."

"Just ask yourself, 'What would James Bond do'?"

I don't think that really applies to me. James Bond is a guy with a penis and balls. I have neither. "James Bond is a guy, Kate? I don't really see how asking myself that would-"

"-Yeah, but he's _the epitome_ of suave and cool. Act like a female James Bond, and you'll be fine. Okay?"

"Okay. See you later with all the details."

She opens the front door to the apartment for me, the wind blowing my hair into my face. Great, so much for looking wifely and polished. I fix my hair up quickly, my heart hammering as I start wobbling down the stairs. It's quite embarrassing, wanting to impress a man when you can't walk in stilettos. I probably look drunk to him or as if I've twisted my ankle.

A door on the car opens up and, there he is, my hubby, stepping out of the car and wearing a grey tuxedo suit jacket and trousers, with a button up crisp white shirt and a purple striped tie. Suddenly, I feel as if the cracked pavement walkway towards his car is actually an aisle and I'm in a wedding dress. Like A Virgin plays distantly in the background in my mind for some reason, though why we would have that as our wedding song, I have no idea.

God, he's perfection. I know that, when God created Christian Grey, he sneezed and accidentally sprinkled an excessive amount of yumminess into his genes.

He's staring straight at me, waiting, holding the door open for me. His lips are pressed tight, like he is suppressing a smile. Why is he dressed so formal? Should I go change into a white dress?

"Sorry I'm early," Christian says once I meet him, and my heart is pounding something shocking.

 _James Bond, James Bond, James Bond._ "Oh, you're not _that_ early. Just an hour and a half early."

He places a hand into the center of my back, guiding me towards his car, and the touch alone has my ovaries exploding with joy. There is nothing quite like being touched by the man of your dreams. I cannot wait to have his hands all over me.

It's a bit difficult to maneuver gracefully into the plush leather seat of the car with the dress I am wearing, but I manage. I just have to yank the bottom of the dress back down towards my knees so that he doesn't cop a glimpse of my legs. He _did_ say they were fat, after all.

"Did you eat something once you got home after exercising?" he asks me once he's inside the car and we are cruising leisurely down the street, getting further and further away from the apartment.

Christian's question leaves me a little lost for a second. _What does he mean by asking me that? Should I not have ate anything because he thinks I look fat in Lycra?_

"Um, maybe? Why?"

"I was just wondering if you had." God, he's so cryptic. He so thinks I'm fat, doesn't he?

"You can't just ask someone that without properly explaining why, Christian. What do you mean by asking me that?" I look at him, waiting, my heart screaming with anxiety. He won't directly look me in the eyes. "Is it so bad if I did eat something because exercise makes me feel ravenous by the time I'm done?"

"Of course not," he mutters in annoyance, turning to look back at me. He looks... frustrated, his eyes glowing. "I'm glad you did eat something. Eating is very important, particularly after exercise. If you were mine, you would be eating snacks every half an hour to keep your blood sugar levels up."

There are those words again and it is so hard not to break out into a grin. _If I were his!_

"Is your door locked?" he asks me unexpectedly, and when I glance over at him again, he points towards the door. He seems a little... antsy for some reason. "The child lock. Is it on, Anastasia?"

"Oh." _What? Why would he want my door to be locked? So that I'm stuck confined in the car with him?_ I check, seeing that the child lock isn't down on the inner door panel. "Um, no, it isn't."

"Lock it." It isn't a request; It's an order. How odd.

"Extra cautious, are you, Mr Grey?" I tease, trying not to laugh as I push the child lock down so that my door is locked from on the inside. He turns to me, a bit relieved I'm taking it so well, I think.

"Oh, if you get to know me well, you'll see that I am cautious about _all_ things, Miss Steele," he says with a trace of humor. It makes me remember what happened this morning; how he bothered to tie my shoelace for me. It was so sweet. "It's called being prepared for all the tribulations in life that the world throws at you." _God, look at us. We're a married couple already; bantering and being all playful, with me teasing him over his endearing cautiousness for safety._

"Are you just mainly frightened that I'll throw myself out of the moving car if it isn't locked?"

"Well, after tonight, I believe anything is possible." I have no idea what he means by that, but he doesn't elaborate. I don't ask him to.

"Your brother and Kate seem really into each other," I say, just to break the ice. "He seems to really like her? Has he mentioned anything about her to you?" It's a safe topic to ask about, right?

"No, he actually hasn't. But Elliot and I don't really talk about that sort of thing with each other."

Liar, liar, pants on fire. I know he's talked to Elliot about me; Elliot said so at the club that night.

I was right. He is taking me out for dinner. He takes me to a restaurant that I have never been to before, but I know, by looking at reviews of it online, that its expensive and lavish. It got five stars in quite a few reviews, being deemed impeccable in service.

Christian finds somewhere to park and as he gets out, walking behind the car to come to my side to open the door for me like the gentleman I've fantasized about, I press down on the child lock quickly so that he can open it.

He opens the door, extending a hand out to me, which I take a bit too quickly and enthusiastically, curling my fingers around him as I stand. His hand just feels so good under mine, like how it should be. Hopefully, once the night is over, his hand will be between my thighs, on my breasts. I think I feel my nipples stand erect happily at the thought, but then again, it is rather cold out tonight.

"Your shivering," he observes, looking down at my legs as he locks the door up. I think I catch him shake his head. _Oh, God. Are my bare legs really that atrocious to him?_ "Let's get you inside. Come."

He slips an arm around my back and I sort of intentionally lean closer and rub against him as we walk to the restaurant. I'm totally invading his personal space- and I think I can smell the cologne he is wearing- but I don't think he actually minds that I am.

He holds the door to the restaurant open for me, letting me walk in first. It's so much warmer inside. And intimate, somewhere that a husband and a wife dines at on their anniversary.

Wooden chairs, crimson red table cloths, candles, vases of white roses around the place. How romantic. This is a date.

The waiter leads us to a table for two in a small alcove and Christian rushes forward to open my chair for me. I almost sigh dreamily as I sit. There will be no need to train my dream man in order to model him into what I want him to be; He has it down to a fine art already.

"I'll have the wine list," Christian says once he sits across from me, in a curt, authoritative tone. My man sure knows how to say what he wants- with no please or thank you whatsoever. It's sexy. The waiter gives him the list, and he reads through it for a moment. "We'll have a bottle of the Pinot Grigio."

"Certainly, sir." The waiter places both menus for us on the table then leaves to get whatever it was that Christian ordered.

 _But what the hell is Pinot Grigio? Some sort of dessert? Strawberries and cream that you eat off each other? If only..._

"I'm going to have the sirloin steak, medium rare, with Bearnaise sauce and green vegetables, Anastasia. I suggest you have the same."

Wow. Is he ordering for me?

"But I haven't even had a chance to look at the menu yet?" I laugh out loud in shock.

Christian sighs loudly. "Well, does that sound agreeable to you? Or do you not eat meat?"

"Um, no. If I was a stronger person and I cared a little more about saving precious animal's souls, maybe. But I'm not a vegetarian so I-"

"-Well, is there _anything_ you don't eat?"

"Raisins," I admit without thought, shuddering. "I'm allergic to raisins."

He cocks his head to the side, his eyes shining at me over the table. "I never knew that it's possible to be allergic to raisins?"

"Well, technically, I'm not. But raisins scare me, just the... look of them. They look like rat droppings." _Oh, shit on a stick._ I press my lips together tight to stop blabbering, feeling my cheeks burn. _Good going, Ana. Turn him off his food by talking about rat droppings..._

Fortunately, the waiter saves me, appearing with a bottle of wine and two sparkling clean glasses. _Oh, of course. Pinot Grigio is wine, dumbass._

He starts pouring our glasses of wine, while Christian and I remain silent, staring at each other from across the table. He does have an intense gaze with those piercing gray eyes- like he has the power to stare right through to your very soul, like he can see through your clothes and see your body naked.

 _Mm, naked._ I have to clench my thighs together under the table, skin rubbing together with friction. I wiggle a little in the chair, swinging my feet back and forth, my thighs chafing together as I bite down on my lip. Christian's eyes seem to widen and his gaze falls straight to my bottom lip. He bit me, I remember. He bit me back. _Mmmm._ The air surrounding us in the restaurant seems to shift. It's hotter, more filled with sparks and electricity somehow.

"Your wine," the waiter says, tearing us out of whatever the hell is happening between us. He surely has to feel the outstanding sexual tear-my-clothes-off chemistry between us, right?

Christian clears his throat loudly, moving his eyes away from me. He takes a sip of the wine. "Very nice," he says in approval. Then he orders our meals and, again, it's like he is in his element. He isn't self-conscious at all in being a little harsh and demanding. It's very sexy.

The waiter leaves after writing down our orders, and I move my wine closer, taking a sip as well. It tastes... different. I am not much of a wine drinker and its really gassy. Hope I don't burp really loud in front of him.

I rest my elbows on the table, thinking on what to say that won't come across as freaky. Fortunately for me, he beats me to it.

"Before we get started, I have something I require you to sign," Christian says, thrusting a hand into his inner jacket pocket. Is that an engagement ring? But no, it isn't unfortunately. It's a folded piece of paper and a pen. He unfolds the paper, placing it on the table towards me. It's typed up by a computer. "This is a non-disclosure agreement," he explains. "My lawyer insists on it."

 _A non-disclosure agreement just for having dinner? What the fudge?_

"It means that everything we discuss here at the restaurant tonight cannot be repeated. All our conversations must be kept between us, with no third parties involved. That way, if you break the agreement, I can sue you."

"Um, is this really necessary? It's only dinner, Christian? I didn't realize this was a business meeting to you?"

"It isn't. Still, my lawyer insists."

"Okay." He hands me the pen and I read it through quickly. There isn't anything fishy in the fine print, so I sign it. Folding it back up, I hand it to him, and he shoves it back into his jacket pocket. "Excuse me," I say, standing from the chair quickly. "I gotta go pee, like, really badly."

I clench my eyes shut on the way towards the restrooms, embarrassed. _God, seriously!_ But in my defense, when I am nervous, I do have a weak bladder.

 **CPOV:**

While Anastasia excuses herself to go to the bathroom, I see that she has left her purse under the table. Her phone pings inside it loudly. She has just received a message. Would it be wrong of me to look inside her purse? If I see who has texted her? It wouldn't be like I'm intentionally snooping or anything like that. Husbands do this all the time to check in and see what their wives are up to, right?

 _Wait. Husband? Where the fuck did that come from?_

I'm not Miss Steele's husband and she certainly isn't my wife.

Fuck it, I decide, reaching down with my leg to kick her purse closer to me with my shoe under the table. I glance around, making sure no one has seen me. Everyone is too busy eating their dinner anyway and I'm sure people do this all the time. It's completely healthy to be curious.

I reach down with my hands, grabbing her purse. I sit it in my lap, unzipping it surreptitiously. And bingo, found her phone. It's an old flip-phone, not one of the new Smartphones. I'm going to have to do something about that. The screen is all smeared, like Miss Steele has touched it with greasy hands. I open it, and it asks me for her password. Damn it. Now what?

First thing that comes into my head, I try it. _AnaGrey._

And fuck me sideways into Sunday, its actually the correct password to access her phone. What are the odds of that?

My heart lifts when I see the image on her phone. She has a screensaver of me. She _actually_ has a screensaver _of me_. It's a picture of me when I did a photo-shoot for a magazine article last year. Ordinary, I know that if a guy saw this on a girls phone- a picture of themselves as their screensaver, a password related to them- that they would be repelled and would deem the chick fucking nuts. Not me. I actually find it to be rather attractive of her, just like the woman out of Fatal Attraction, the Alex Forrest character.

It isn't like I'm without my own fuckedupness. I still have Anastasia's underwear and bra, which I like to smell from time to time. I've become addicted to the scent of her unwashed panties and something about sniffing them soothes me on an intricate level. Oh, and let's not forget my shoe-box of Ana, my Anabilia that I've hidden in my closet. She really isn't the only one here with a few skeletons in her closet, is she?

There's a little envelope on the top of the screen, saying she has received a message. I open it.

It's from Jose, the photographer fucker obsessed with her. I read the message:

 _Want 2 do something Saturday sexi?_

Jesus. He can't even spell 'sexy' right. Stupid douche-bag.

I glance up, making sure Anastasia hasn't returned from the restroom. She hasn't. I click on the reply button, typing:

 _Jose, you are so weird. Leave me alone. From this point forward, our friendship is terminated. I'm seeing someone else- and his dick is WAY bigger than yours. LET HIM COME AT ME! LOL._

Fortunately, from reading her tweets and her statuses, I have knowledge on how she writes.

I hit send, just as I see Anastasia emerge. Quickly, I delete the message out of the sent history because its crucial to destroy all evidence, then I shove her phone back into her purse. By the time she returns back to the table, I have already dumped her purse back onto the floor near her chair where I found it, thank fuck.

 **APOV:**

"Oh, that's better," I sigh in relief after peeing. I grab a wad of toilet roll, wiping myself, before standing and flushing, tucking my dress back down safely around my knees.

I exit the stall, washing my hands and staring at my wide-eyed, flustered appearance in the mirror. I'm beaming, my Joker-red smile wide.

 _Oh, my God. It's happening! I'm on a date with my dream man, Christian Grey! Holy shit, it's real!_

I dry my hands, breathing heavily. It feels so surreal, but it's reality. I pinch myself, just to make sure I'm not dreaming. I'm definitely not.

Out of habit, I go to adjust my purse strap over my shoulder, realizing I must have left it under the table. Shit! The screen saver! If he finds out about that, he'll think I'm so weird. But then I remember you need my password, so I'm safe. I hardly think he would bother to look into my phone anyway.

I head out of the restroom, finding him still sitting at the table where I left him. He hasn't ran away, at least. Damn, if only I had my purse on me. I would take a secret selfie of this moment, of him waiting at the table for me to return, and text it to Kate. He looks up at me when I return, and he actually smiles a genuine, eye-crinkling smile at me. He's so delicious. I am seriously contemplating turning into a cannibal.

"There was actually a reason that I asked you here tonight, Anastasia," he says once I sit back into my eat.

My back straightens, my mind and body taking notice, suddenly alert. "Yes?"

 _Yes, Christian! The answer is yes to dating you!_

"When I told you before that I... that I was looking for a... _specific_ relationship in mind, I meant that."

"What do you mean by specific?" I ask curiously. _Does he mean getting married early? Because I'm all in!_

"Well, you see I know the type of relationship in particular that I want. I think I've always known. I just don't think a... normal relationship would be possible for me." He hesitates, raking his fingers through his hair. He looks so serious; serious _and_ apologetic, as if he is worried how I'll feel. "I've tried it with a few women, but they found it to be a little... overwhelming and too difficult to sustain, to.. oblige by what I want and the certain rules that I have set for them."

He's tried it with a few women? No, he isn't allowed to. There can be only me.

I just cannot contain my curiosity, despite knowing it will leave me feeling as if a daggers been shoved through my chest."How many women exactly?"

Christian hesitates, rubbing around his chin with his fingers. "Fourteen."

 _Fourteen?_ "Wow. _Fourteen_ is quite a lot?"

"There just has to be rules, you see?" I have no idea what he is talking about- I mean, I haven't even been in a relationship before- but I nod along anyway. "Strict guidelines that need to be followed in order for this... _specific_ relationship to work."

"What kind of guidelines exactly?" I ask slowly.

"Guidelines that, if are complied, will please me. If broken- any rule, no matter how trivial it may seem- I will punish you for disobeying me."

He will punish me? Like tie me up like how he did in his office? Bite my lip? If so, pull me aboard, Captain!

"I have a contract written up, with all the rules in which I would like you to follow. If you agree to it, of course. If you agree to having this specific type of relationship with me."

A contract?

"What kind of rules though?"

"Rules such as... texting me at all times. When you leave your apartment, you will text me the exact details of where you will be going- the address and location, who you will be with, what you are doing in particular. Then you will text me once you arrive safely home. That sort of thing."

It doesn't really sound all that hard? Just texting him to let him know where I'll be and with whom?

"And clothing," he continues. "I'll be in charge of sorting out your wardrobe, deciding what is suitable for you to wear. You wouldn't be wearing any revealing clothes or tight leggings as you were today- things that show off your body- _unless_ its with the intentions of doing it for me to please me solely in mind. You would also not be allowed to interact with any members of the opposite sex- no men, with the _exception_ of me."

"And if I break your rules?"

"I punish you. Spanking, bondage- that sort of thing."

 **Hope you enjoyed this one? Sorry if it wasn't very funny. Just setting the ground for their "specific" relationship which will turn out to mainly be Christian turning up at every location she texts him and Ana demanding the rules be applied to him as well. Part 2 of the date will be up soon, as well as Elena entering into the scene.**


	13. Chapter 13

**Sorry I took a while to update this one. Hope you enjoy :)**

* * *

 **Chapter 13**

"Oh. Ok" It's really a lot to take in. Do people usually do stuff like this in normal relationships? "So if I break one of your rules- like if I don't text you or if I talk to another man- then you'll basically punish me by spanking me or tying me up like you did in your office?"

"Yes, its exactly like that."

I think I start to feel a little faint. I've dreamed of being with Christian Grey ever since I first saw him eight months ago on a live interview on national television. Not once did I dream it would go this way, where he would want to be in a specific relationship with me like this. I thought, after doing my research over the months, that I knew him so well. Apparently not. Apparently, simply just by looking at someone and collecting their interviews in magazines and in newspapers, it doesn't actually reveal the true part of that person- like their sexual proclivities. I had no idea that my dream man would be into this sort of thing. He definitely is far better than I expected.

"What you will basically be, is my submissive, Anastasia," he continues after a moment. "I'll be your dominant, while you will be my submissive."

"Your submissive? But by definition, a submissive is someone meekly passive and obedient?"

"And that is technically what you will need to be. For this to work, of course."

I'm not entirely sure I would fall into that definition. Of course, I know without a doubt that I would be obedient to Christian Grey. When you know you're soul mates with someone, that you are meant to be their wife and the mother of their children, then you would literally do anything for that person.

But passive is something I know without a doubt that I am not; that just isn't me. To be passive is to accept or allow what happens and what others do to you, without active response or resistance. I know, from experience, that if I have ever felt threatened by another woman or if someone was making moves into my territory, being passive is not what I could be. I'm a girl that needs to lurch into action. If another woman tried to get close to Christian, I know my immediate instinct would not be to sit back and take it.

Sometimes, when you really want something in life, you have to work for it.

Sometimes you have to go to great lengths to defend what is yours from being taken away by external forces. Exactly like back in the caveman or jungle days, where animals defend their mates and their own territories, obliterating any outsiders stepping into their path. Christian will be my baby cub, and I'll be his leopard mommy. Anyone who tries to come near him- any women- and I will make like a leopard while they are gazelles and I will tear into them with my teeth, shredding them apart flesh by flesh.

"What other rules would I need to follow?" I ask curiously. "Or were they just the only ones?"

"There's a lot more that I haven't even told you about. I have them all written down in the form of a contract." _Great, another thing to sign. I thought he said this wasn't a business meeting?_ "I'll give you it at the end of the night to look through. You can read it on your own time and see if there is anything you have any issues with. If you decide this isn't the type of thing that you are looking for and you want out, then its fine. I'll understand."

"What do I get if I agree?"

"Me," he says without hesitation, and he reaches out, slipping his fingers around the stem of his wine glass. "If you agree to this, then you'll get me, Anastasia."

 _Oh, Christian,_ I think to myself, my heart hammering. _But I've already got you, silly Billy. Can't you see?_

He peers deeply into my eyes, and I peer back, even when he sips a quick mouthful of his wine in. He swallows it down, but he still manages to miss a bit. Some liquid rolls through his lips and he flicks his tongue out, licking around his chin and bottom lip. _Mmm, I want to be that bit of wine. He can lick me anytime, anywhere. Hell, even right now, in a restaurant while over eight people watch us. Count me in._

"But if I don't agree to this?" I ask hesitantly, then I reach out, grabbing my own glass of wine, mimicking him. They do say mimicking is the highest form of flattery after all, right?

My eyes still holding his in, I bring the rim of the glass to my lips, pursing them over it. I let them linger there for a second, pressed over the glass, then I sweep my tongue out near the cool smooth edge of the glass.

Christian's reaction to that amuses me. He shifts a little in the chair, his gaze burning, observing everything that I'm doing. _Oh, yeah. I've got you right where I want you, all right._

He sits his glass back down onto the table, swallowing loudly. "Then I suppose I'll understand," he says cautiously. "It will be goodbye."

 _Goodbye?_ The blood rushes to my head as I slam the wine glass onto the table a bit too roughly. Wine splashes over onto the table, but neither of us seem too concerned about that. _Does he mean goodbye, as in if I don't do this, then nothing will happen between us? It's the only way I can get him right where I want him? If I do this?_

"So if I say no, we're done. Is that what you're telling me?" I cannot help the coarseness of my voice.

He cringes a little. "If you say no, then... yes. This is all I know, Anastasia. I can't do it any other way but like this." Ouch. He doesn't even seem to realize how brutally honest that is. I don't think he even understands how impossible that is- it being that simple, him just telling me goodbye, as if I'll just let it be and go quietly.

"And if I _do_ do this, does that mean you'll be my boyfriend?" I ask hopefully.

"No, I told you. I don't do the whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing."

"But isn't that what boyfriends and girlfriends do anyway?" I mutter in confusion. "They text each other to tell them where they will be at all times?" I have limited experience of how a proper relationship works, of course, seeing as I have never been in one before. But I am assuming that is how it works; Texting your boyfriend to let him know where you will be at all times, letting him spank you. "So how can you say that you wouldn't be my boyfriend when that is what two people do in a relationship anyway?"

"I wouldn't know about ordinary relationships. I've never been in an ordinary one before myself. This is the only sort of relationship I'm interested in having."

It's sort of nice to know that he is just as clueless about how an ordinary relationship is as I am. It's just all the more proof of how perfect we are together.

"Tell me something," Christian says, sitting straighter in his chair. "What I did to you that day in my office when you came in for the picnic, you enjoyed that, didn't you?"

His tone is so knowing, as if I was being really transparent on how much I had enjoyed him tying me up to his chair while he fed me like a bird. Then again, maybe the fact that I did not bother to call the police afterwards or threatened to sue him for sexual assault gave me away? And it's true; I did enjoy it, strangely enough. It turned me on, because it was my dream man doing it, the man I have been crushing on. I think I could take anything he does to me and I would enjoy it, because its _him_ doing it.

"I did enjoy that," I admit, my cheeks reddening. I get mental flashes of being in his office again; the way he'd hold a piece of cracker between his lips, only to shove it into my mouth with his hot tongue. The way the pieces of salmon I'd cut were really so stringy that they would dangle around my chin. Eating with your hands tied, it's a real difficult challenge.

"Then what makes you think that you wouldn't enjoy other things that I did to you?" _Oh, Christian. You could tie me up and threaten to cut off my fingers and I'd still be aroused by it._

"I think I'd enjoy anything you did to me," I blab out before I can stop myself idiotically. God, I sound so desperate. "What you did to me in your office, it was... different. But hot different. It was... kinky in a very pleasurable way."

"Kinky?" He repeats, his eyes glowing at me. "That's the right word for it, Anastasia. I'm into kinky. Kinky _fuckery_ , in fact."

My heart bursts open and sings out loud at way he says it. _Kinky fuckery._ I don't even know if that is even a true word, but I like the sound of it. Especially coming from his mouth, his voice.

The waiter literally materializes out of nowhere with our plates of food in both hands. They might as well be holding a garden hose, standing directly beside us as they spray us with it, dampening the perfect tension between us. Christian straightens in the chair, looking at the food on the plates, assessing to see if they are to his satisfaction, I suppose.

With a flourish, the waiter sets our plates in front of us. The food looks really good, and its artfully done and decorated on the plate. It's just a pity that I've seemed to have lost my appetite for steak and green beans. I can think of something far more interesting that I would like to do with my mouth right now. I can think of better ways to utilize my tongue, and using it for tasting food is not one of them.

 _God. I think he's turned me into a female Hannibal Lector. I ate Christian Grey with some fava beans and a nice Chianti._

I shake my head against the disturbing thought, noticing he is staring directly at me. He looks down at our plates- comparing them, I think. I glance down at his plate as well. As far as I am concerned, they look the same.

"Mine has a bit more meat on it," Christian says, a hint of displeasure in his tone.

His plate has more meat on it? It doesn't, though. It really doesn't. This restaurant is decent enough that they take their equal portion sizes and consistency with their meals seriously. The steaks on each plate look identical. They could be twins.

"I'm switching plates," he decides, and there is no compromise in his tone.

Before I know it, he has reached over with his arm, grabbing my plate with his hand. Then he picks up his, switching them around. His gaze remains on mine, as if he is just daring for me to say something about it. He unfolds his napkin, still watching me. Then he lifts up each flap on the collar of his shirt, tucking the napkin in so he won't risk spilling anything over the front of his shirt. How adorable.

"Don't just stare at it, Anastasia. Your food won't eat itself if you stare at it hard enough," he mutters under his breath in irritation, collecting his cutlery. "Eat your food." He jabs his fork in my direction. " _All_ of it."

 _Wow, he sounds so bossy. Mr I-Am-In-Charge. Mr I-Run-The-Show._

"You're very bossy when it comes to food, aren't you, Mr Grey?" I tease, finally picking up my own cutlery. "Now I know why it is that you felt the need to tie me to your chair in your office and feed me."

He compresses his lips together, trying to hide a smile as he starts cutting into his steak. "Oh? And what reason is that?"

"You have major food control issues."

He cocks his head to the side, considering. "Perhaps I just don't like food being wasted?"

"Nope. Somehow I don't think that's it." I start slicing through my steak, and when I look up at him again, I see he is watching how I use the knife while he chews slowly. Y _eah, he's definitely impressed with my kick-ass knife skills. Captivated by them, in fact._

"The graduation ceremony is in a weeks time," he says, starting a new conversation. Such a shame, when I was enjoying teasing him.

"I know."

"I'm still giving the commence address."

I nod, shoving in a forkful of steak. "I know," I speak through a mouth filled with steak, and it takes me a second too late to realize just how rude and unladylike that is of me. Kate told me to act ladylike. I should really remember to swallow my food first.

"What plans do you have for after you graduate?"

"No plans as yet," I admit once I've completely swallowed all the food down.

"Well, we have an excellent internship program running? There is a spot available?"

 _Fiery balls of Satan. Is he asking me to take a internship where he works?_

"Something tells me that wouldn't be such a good idea," I laugh nervously. "Me, being in the same building as you. I can't see that working out too well."

He peers at me, his eyes creased with confusion. "Why not?"

Oh, shit. What to say without admitting to the obvious truth? If I started at his work as an intern, I would not be getting any work done. I would just be spying on him all day. It would be far too distracting, being in close proximity to him. Plus, I am not so sure I would be able to control myself if his bitch assistant Andrea kept on insisting to get in the way of us.

"Well, all you have to do is just look at me," I shrug, pretending to be embarrassed. It is really the only lie I can come up with. "I've seen the type of women you employ and they're blonde and beautiful. I wouldn't fit in there."

Suddenly a strange noise interrupts us. I think someone's ringtone is going off in the restaurant. I don't realize it is Christian's phone until he stands abruptly while plucking the napkin off, chucking it down on the table.

"Excuse me," he says quickly once he removes his cell phone out of his trouser pocket, checking caller I.D. "I really should take this. This person has been trying to call me all day. I'll just be a second." He gives me an apologetic smile before he tucks in his chair, striding away to a corner of the room for some privacy.

I sigh loudly, placing my cutlery down against the porcelain plate as I watch him. He begins pacing back and forth, speaking to whoever it is on the phone in a low, muted voice.

I can't deny its rather insulting; how quick he was to pick up his phone and answer it when he is here with me tonight. I should be first priority, shouldn't I? He asked me out on a dinner date, after all. Shouldn't a date be more important than answering a fudging phone call? Talk about lousy date etiquette.

"Elena, just calm down," I hear him say in a soothing tone, as though he is trying to placate a crying person.

 _And Elena?_

 _Elena?_

He's talking to _a woman_ on the phone. _Another_ woman when he's supposed to be fully present, on a date, _with me_.

My fingers find my unused napkin on the table and before I even know what I'm doing, I start ripping it up into little shreds, bit by bit. I may even imagine I'm doing this to this woman he is speaking to- whoever she is. The thin shreds of napkin are really this woman's hair extensions, and I am yanking them out strand by strand. _Cow. Disrupting my date._ I feel my cheeks tremble; I'm that insulted by his behavior. How dare he! I suppose he thinks its perfectly fine to answer a call from _another_ woman, doesn't he? Well, I'll show him!

Reaching down under the table, I grab my handbag, sliding it on over my right shoulder. I'm just standing on my feet when I see him shove his phone back into his pocket. He strides back over towards me. He doesn't even notice I'm standing at first, ready to leave, because he has his head bowed, his thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose as he shakes his head. When at last he finally lifts his head, noticing me standing there, his lips part and he looks shocked.

"What are you doing?" he mutters to me quietly, shaking his head in confusion. He glances down at our plates. "You haven't even ate all of your food yet?"

"I've seemed to have lost my appetite," I get out shortly, my hands trembling. I know that the safest thing to do would be to leave. It will feel as though someone has slit my throat- getting out of Christian's presence- but its ultimately for the best right now. I'm not so sure I can be rational.

His eyes notice the fact that I am holding my bag. He sighs loudly, lifting a hand to rake his fingers through his hair. "Are you leaving already? Did something... happen?" He sounds so ignorant, so unsuspecting. He clearly doesn't even understand whether he's done something wrong.

"Yes, something _has_ happened," I get out through my teeth. I said to myself that I was not going to do this; I was going to act all James Bond-like and suave, without showing my true intense feelings for him. I guess it's a little too late for that now, isn't it? "You would prefer to talk to another woman than me."

"What?" His mouth pops open, his eyes wide in disbelief. "No, Anastasia. It isn't like that at all! I wasn't-"

"-Who _is she_ to you then?" I demand wretchedly, and _damn it_ , it comes out before I can even prevent it. No, no, no. What am I doing? I'm not supposed to be doing this! Now he will well and truly think I'm nuts!

"Who is she?" He repeats loudly, as if he doesn't understand the question. Then something passes over Christian's face and he rubs a hand around his chin, scratching it. "That phone call just then, Anastasia, it was from-"

"-Elena? I heard you say that name so _who_ is she? A girlfriend?" I know its going to kill me if he admits that she is his girlfriend, but I have to know. I have a right to know who she is.

"What? I _told_ you, Anastasia! I don't _do_ the girlfriend thing!" His voice has risen and I notice a lot of people in the restaurant have turned to watch us. What a disaster. "Elena isn't my girlfriend, she's an associate!"

An associate? I feel like there's a bubble of air rising in the center of my chest. "A... an associate? So she's just an associate to you?"

"Yes!" Christian is panting, his voice desperately loud for me to understand. "We do business together, that's all. It's strictly... business related, Elena and I. And _another_ thing," he pauses, glancing around us, making sure no one is eavesdropping, "I'm the poster-boy for monogamy. I can't do that two timing shit, _not ever_. That just _isn't_ me."

"Oh." I feel my eyes moisten with tears as my cheeks burn at the realization.

I've made a mess of it already, by blowing this way out of proportion. He'll probably want to take me right back to the apartment and demand I stay away from him for good now. Maybe even get a restraining order out on me. Oh God, what is wrong with me?

"I'm sorry then," I mutter, awash with humiliation. I wish a truck would ram straight through the restaurant window and collide into me right now, I'm so embarrassed! "I think I should just go."

Numbly, I turn to leave, a tear escaping down my cheek. One of Christian's hands fasten onto one of mine, pulling me back. I glance up at his face in astonishment, and he's actually almost smiling at me, his eyes shining with an identifiable but strong emotion, his pupils heavily dilated, overriding the gray of his irises. What? Smiling? I don't understand?

"You don't need to leave, Anastasia," he says gently, and lifting a hand, he uses the back of his knuckles gently to blot a tear away. "It was just a misunderstanding. Come, sit." He yanks me back towards my chair and as I sit, still shocked and uncomprehending over his positive reaction, my bones go all mushy when he brings my hand up to his mouth, kissing the back of it once. "It's fine. Let's just focus on having a good evening and eating the rest of our dinner."

I don't know how I deserve for him to respond so well to me over my ghastly overreaction, but somehow, Christian does. Any other guy would have immediately said a few harsh words to me, then would have left, ending our date. Can the man I have been so adamantly passionate to believe I was destined to be with truly be the perfect man for me after all?

 _Hope you enjoyed this one and that you got a few smiles or laughs out of it. Too crazy? Thank you so much for your reviews, I love reading them. :)_

 _To guest reviewer, I am sorry if story is getting boring. Obviously, you can't please everyone. I will try to make it more exciting. As for Ana, she won't be a doormat as you say. She will be very decisive on what she wants, and won't tolerate Elena. She will make up her own rules of what she wants for Christian regarding their relationship herself. Sorry if its boring._


	14. Chapter 14

Thank you, hope you enjoy this one and that, hopefully, it gives you a few chuckles.

Sorry for being lousy with not updating! Hope you can forgive me! As usual, it's silly.

* * *

 **Chapter 14**

When I get home after Christian drops me off, I see first thing once I get in that the lights are all off in the apartment, which means that Kate has already gone to bed.

Using her absence to my advantage, I flick the light on in the kitchen, switch on her laptop and make myself a cup of tea, flipping through the contract Christian gave me when he dropped me off.

It's exciting reading. Almost as captivating a read as my favorite Thomas Hardy novel. Christian had told me to call him if I had any issues regarding what's written inside the contract.

While I let the teabag infuse in the boiled water in my cup, I skim through a bit of the rules.

 _The Submissive will inform the Dominant of where she will be at ALL times, no exceptions. This includes:_

 _The time the Submissive will be leaving  
_ _The time she arrives home  
_ _The purpose of the Submissive's outing  
_ _The Submissive's whereabouts/_ _address of the location  
_ _The names of the person(s) the Submissive intends to see._

This rule doesn't surprise me, as he had already spoken about it tonight during dinner. I just wonder why it is that he wishes to know all of this, and why it's necessary. Can that rule be applied to him for me as well? I know I'd love to know where he is at all times and whom it is that he will be spending time with.

I think of my dreadful behavior earlier tonight when he answered that phone call from this mysterious Elena whore as I lay the contract down and open on the counter.

His reaction to it was not something I had been expecting; I had expected him to turn me down right on the spot and consider me a crazy stalker. But he hadn't. He appeared almost turned on by it, as if he did not mind how aggravated I got. The way I acted though, despite it not bothering him evidently, it ashamed me. My particular fixation with Christian Grey must be more severe than I had initially counted on, if I had felt that strongly over him speaking to a woman.

I can't help wondering what this Elena woman looks like. It bothers me- the thought that he may be speaking to her right now. I know he assured me that she is simply an associate that he does business frequently with, but... I imagine crossing paths with her now. How old is she? For some reason, my brain mentally pictures her as an old frail eighty year old with dentures and blonde hair extensions to hide the baldness. What is she to him? He said she is his associate in business, but what does that even mean?

I pour milk into my cup, then jiggle the teabag around before tossing it into the bin. Trying to steer my mind away from this woman, I start reading some lines in the contract again.

 _The Submissive will not act in a way that purposefully endangers her own life. This includes keeping her shoelaces tied at ALL times while exercising._ I read that rule and almost choke on my mouthful of tea when I recall him turning up out of nowhere while I was jogging to tie my shoelace up. Did that really bother him that much? Bringing my hot cup of tea and the contract to the table, I sit, scanning through it.

 _The Submissive will agree to give a weekly donation of a pair of her unwashed panties for the Dominant to use at his own leisure._

Sweet Lord Jesus. He wants me to donate a pair of my unwashed underwear once a week? What on earth for? And at his _own leisure_? What use could he possibly find in having a pair of my unwashed panties?

I remember stealing his underwear at the Heathman- though, they were washed- and how I like to wear them, especially at bedtime. Is that wrong of me? In my defense, men's underwear is very breathable and roomy down there on the lady parts... I wonder if I can negotiate for that rule to apply for me as well so that I can get weekly donations of _his_ unwashed underwear. _Mmm, Christian's underwear._ But this rule is so confusing.

I get up from the chair, finding my handbag to retrieve my phone. He did say that I am to call him if I have any questions, right?

I find his number in my contacts under 'HUSBAND', then press the dial button. He answers on the fourth ring. "Anastasia?"

"I'm just reading your contract right now. There's some of it that I don't understand?"

He sighs loudly. "Which point needs clarifying? I have my copy here."

"Okay. It's on page 30." I hear paper shuffling on his end of the line. "It says as written here: _The Submissive will agree to give a weekly donation of a pair of her unwashed panties for the Dominant to use at his own leisure,"_ I read out loud to him in confusion. "May I ask why?"

"Why what, Anastasia?"

"Well, _why_ would you need a pair of my unwashed panties?" I raise my eyebrows. "And at your leisure? What do you intend to do with them?"

There's a weird silence. Then he says quietly, "It's either asking you in the contract or me stealing them. I figured asking was nicer." What? But why would he want to steal my underwear? Oh, who am I kidding? Does he even need to give a reason? I find it hot. Christian Grey, man of my dreams- the guy I have been mooning over for the past eight months straight, he wants my underwear!

He still hasn't properly explained to me what he intends to do with them, though. It's too intriguing. "But what are you going to do with them?"

"I want to make a quilt," he answers quickly with a heavy sigh.

"A quilt? With my underwear?"

"Yes, a quilt, Anastasia."

 _Damn, he only wants to use them for making something innocent, like a quilt._ For a moment there, I had been half-fantasizing that he would make a shrine dedicated to me out of them. Or smell my underwear, even. The image my mind conjures up of Christian sniffing my underwear just at the thought alone... That would be so delicious if he _did_ smell my underwear, inhaling me in.

"Is there anything else included in the contract that you would like to discuss so far?" he asks me, and I can't help getting the suspicion that he is trying to divert the topic on the panty donations.

"Not an issue exactly, but I wonder if..." I hesitate, licking my lips.

"You wonder- what? We have to be honest with each other for this to work."

"Can the same rules be applied to you?" I ask uncertainly. "The underwear donations and the... the texting me where you are at all times?" It seems only fair to me.

"Let me see if I have this correct," he says slowly. "You want me to give you a pair of my underwear each week and text you where I am at all times as well- as written in the contract?""

"Yes, I do. It seems only fair to me that you extend the same courtesy?"

"All right," he agrees after a moment, and my heart lifts in relief. "The same rules can apply to me with informing you of my whereabouts as well as the underwear donations. Anything else you wish to discuss?"

 _He's agreeing!_ _Weekly underwear donations!_ Be still, my poor fragile, easily-startled heart. My inner Gollum shrieks in glee while diving headfirst into a thick pile of his precious Christian Grey's unwashed underwear.

"No, that's everything at the moment, I think."

He sniffs loudly on the other line. Is he getting the flu? I daydream about me popping into his office, spoon-feeding him and delivering him soup, sacrificing my own health in order to nurse him. But that's what you do with your significant other or partner. You risk your health in order to make them feel better.

"Are you catching a cold?" I ask in concern, yet a part of me hopes that he is. It would be the perfect way to demonstrate how wonderful a wife I would make to him in nursing him.

"Uh, no. What makes you think that, Anastasia?" He sniffs again.

"Because you sound all... snuffly?"

 **CPOV:**

 _Oh, fuck._

I stop inhaling in, mid-sniff at her question, as I mash the fabric of Anastasia's pair of panties that I stole from the Heathman that morning between my fingers. It hadn't occurred to me that I was being that obvious? Taking compulsive drags of her panties while speaking to her?

I force out a fake cough several times as a way to cover my ass. "Uh, yes. I actually do feel a little under the weather, Anastasia." I cough again. "Is there anything else you would like to discuss while we are here on the phone?"

"No, that's really everything," she explains in her sweet, soft voice.

When she hangs up, I scrunch the cotton into a fist again, shoving it under my nose as I lean back in the leather of the seat.

Yes, I had taken her stolen pair of panties with me during the ride to pick her up for dinner tonight, stashed in one of my trouser pockets. I swear, the scent of her has become like a drug to me this past week; something addictive, intoxicating. Who needs cocaine or all of that other illicit shit when a woman's unique scent does just as good, minus the gruesome side-effects like head-spins and nausea? The unique smell of her lingering on her unwashed underwear soothes me in an inexplicable way.

Truth is, men do this all the time. It's utterly natural and common. Men do this secretly by stealing their wives or girlfriends underwear. Just because it isn't known or talked about, doesn't mean guys out there all over the world aren't sniffing their woman's underwear right now. But she had actually agreed to it. She had actually agreed to regular weekly giveaways of her panties. And what's more, she wants my underwear in return. Could this girl be anymore perfect for me?

Honestly, this whole Dominant/Submissive contract thing is mostly a ruse. I thought it was something that I wanted, but as it turns out, I feel different with her. It's hard to explain. I just want to observe her and eat her- metaphorically, of course. I want to digest the smell of her, be part of her. Be _immersed_ in her.

I just need to get more of her underwear. It was mainly why I wrote up that rule. It was either her giving it to me willingly or me breaking into her apartment and stealing her underwear, anyway.

I just want to know where she is, at all times. That way, I can track her by following her around. Spying on her, in fact.

Up until recently, I didn't realize what was happening with me, until I found out a legit name for it. My therapist Flynn told me that it's called Voyeurism, and it actually exists.

By definition, Voyeurism is the interest in or practice of spying on people engaged in intimate behaviors, such as undressing, or other actions usually considered to be of a private nature. I just have a feeling that I will very much enjoy observing Anastasia everywhere she goes, and with everything she does. I definitely had enjoyed watching her jogging- though, the untied shoelace was a real issue for me and made my palms all twitchy. I also enjoyed watching her through the window while she worked.

Dr Flynn also says I'm using Voyeurism as an excuse, that its bullshit to call what I'm doing that, and that stalking is the more apt term for it. I'm apparently, in his eyes, just trying to rationalize what I am doing to her, but what the fuck would he know anyway?

And tonight, when Elena called me and how Miss Steele reacted to it... Fuck, that was hot. No woman has ever reacted the way she has before; She looked like a possessed, angry demon. Or like a sane woman hanging on a frayed thread that is just about to break. She looked as though she was about to go crazy on me, and fuck, it was the _sexiest thing_ I have ever seen. She's definitely not like any other woman I have ever met before.

* * *

First thing I get the next morning, is a text from Anastasia:

 _Going to work. Clayton's Hardware store. Probably will get back home at around 3.30 in the afternoon ;) Hope this satisfies you._

And it _does_ satisfy me. She's learning very quickly. I intend to take full advantage of her absence away from her apartment. Today, is the day I make the next move.

They say that you can truly learn about someone- their personality, where the matters of their heart lies- by peering into their bedroom. But no, I won't be just peering. I'll be _inside_ the walls of her bedroom.

I arrive and park across the road from her apartment at around ten thirty in the morning. I stare in through the windows while I put on my protective gear, making sure her roomy isn't in the house with her.

I slip into my black hooded jacket and throw the hood over my head, then reach into the glove compartment to find a spare pair of latex gloves. I pull them on, double-checking through the window that no one is inside the house. I have to b sure that neither Anastasia nor her roommate is home. As far as I can tell, the apartment is quiet and deserted. Miss Steele is at work, while her roommate, Katherine Kavanagh, must be somewhere else.

This is the sort of thing where you need to think of all possible scenarios happening beforehand so that you can prevent any foreseeable unpleasant outcomes, like being sent to jail or getting arrested for trespassing and breaking and entering into someone else's private property. Inhaling in deeply through my nose, I check out my surroundings, making sure no one is in the street to see me. If anyone catches me, I'm dead. My reputation, ruined. But I need to get inside Anastasia's bedroom. The compulsion is that intense that I start to feel antsy and restless, sitting behind the steering wheel.

The coast seems clear. There are two cars parked outside near someone's driveway, but they are empty. There are no people around. Now is a good enough time as any. Making sure the hood of my jacket covers most of my face, I climb out of the car, but I don't bother locking up the doors. If something happens and things go disastrous, I'll need to run back to my car and drive off.

I feel my heart begin to race as I look left and right down the street before breaking out into a swift jog through the garden of her apartment. There is something so thrilling about this, so exciting. I walk towards where I know her bedroom window is, and I move directly below it, crouching into the bush, assessing my best way in. It's definitely through her window.

When you do this sort of thing, there is no such thing as deciding at the last minute to back down, to chicken out. Besides, I've got a lot of money. I'm sure I can afford one of the top lawyers in the state, if this goes sour.

Anastasia is worth more to me than a fine or a jail sentence. I _need_ to get inside her bedroom. Fuck everything else.

I'm a fairly fit guy. I work out seven days a week and, as it turns out, my chin ups really work out to my benefit this morning. I grab onto both sides of the windowsill to her main bedroom window, and I hoist myself up easily. I manage to get up on it, balancing with my knees while I work her window open. It takes a bit of elbow grease, _come on, you fucker, open,_ and by the time I manage to get it halfway up, I'm sweating and panting. I glance behind my shoulder to make sure no one has seen me, before I squeeze in through the gap I've made.

I'm like a fucking stealthy snake or ninja, slithering on her floor using my knees. Since I'm already on all fours, I start with crawling beneath Anastasia's bed. It's really smart I remembered to bring the gloves. For obvious reasons, gloves are fantastic at hiding any traces of a person. DNA fingerprints, especially.

I'm lying flat on my stomach beneath her bed-frame when I see it. There's a folder she has hidden under her bed. My intrigue getting the better of me, I reach out and grab it, sliding it towards me. Moving under her bed in such a tight space, it isn't easy. I keep hitting the back of my head on the wooden panels of her bed-frame, which hurts like an evil fucker. I wouldn't be surprised if my skull starts bleeding after this.

Claustrophobia settling in, I grab hold of the folder, shoving it away, then roll onto my side away and out from under her bed. Getting to my feet and panting still, I reach down and take the folder, helping myself to Miss Steele's bed. Anastasia should be at work for quite a while so I can relax and take my time. Realizing its incredibly rude to be lying around on her bed with my shoes still on, I kick them off before settling back against her pillows, the folder still in my lap. _Fuck, her bed is so comfy._

Her bedroom isn't quite what I was expecting it would be. Her old bookshelf is cluttered and messy with papers and large novels. I see Thomas Hardy novels everywhere- her favorite. Thomas Hardy rocks her socks and so does CG, I think to myself, remembering her Twitter bio.

I rest my head back on her pillows with a sigh, look up at her ceiling... and _my face_ looks right back at me. What the fuck?

She has a poster of me on her ceiling. An _actual poster_ of me. Yeah, this is definitely unexpected of her. I wonder if, after she wakes up every morning, she stares at me. I wonder if she imagines me on top of her, fucking her, during the night. Does she touch herself to that picture of me on her ceiling? I feel an ache course through the entire length of my cock at that thought. _Oh, Miss Steele. How full of surprises you are._

Once the shock of seeing a poster of myself up on her ceiling subsides, I get up, looking around her room. There's an old mahogany dresser with make-up on it, and I can't help searching for that red lipstick she loves wearing so much. I find it, and I unscrew the cap, staring at her lipstick. It's well-used. She uses it a lot.

I _have to_ take it. I _just have_ to. I need items to fill up my Anabilia. I want to keep something Anastasia's lips have touched as a memento so badly. I shove it inside my jacket pocket, searching around her room again. Like a crack addict immediately knowing where to find his next hit, I immediately open the first drawer on her dresser. It's like a fucking birthday party. Panties _everywhere!_

It is just too much, the selection. Blue panties, red panties. Panties, panties, panties.

I start rifling through the underwear, and then I see it. She keeps it hidden under her underwear. _Oh, Anastasia. Did you really think I wouldn't notice?_

I pick it up, inspecting the length of it, how large and purple a phallus it is. I can't resist. I yank off one of my gloves, touching the head of it curiously with my fingers. It feels greasy, slick. She's used it recently. _Fucker._ I clench my jaw, searching around for the power button. I switch it on, and it moves with a buzzing sound. I realize I'm jealous. Now I know what it feels like to want to be an inanimate object.

They were right, after all. It's true; about how you only need to go so far as stepping into someone's bedroom to know everything about them. Anastasia has a Rabbit vibrator, and what a _very lucky_ vibrator it is.

"You won't be needing this anymore," I whisper to myself. "When you're with me, sex toys won't be necessary, Anastasia. I hope you use this while staring up at that poster of me. You do, don't you, you divinely naughty girl?"

I move towards her bed, clicking off the vibrator. Then I sit it, propped up against her pillows while I look around again. It takes me _every fucking thing_ I am to not just clear out her entire panty drawer.

I'm just about to open that folder I found beneath her bed when I hear a noise. A door slams, then footsteps.

 _Oh, shit. Shit!_

Thinking fast, I slide behind the door, closing my mouth shut to stop myself from breathing too loudly. Someone is inside the apartment. I can hear their footsteps. Then a stereo turns on and music drifts into Anastasia's bedroom. Someone's listening to music- either her roommate or Miss Steele herself. And, here I am, flattened behind the bedroom door, praying to whoever is listening that they won't catch me in here. Someone starts singing along to the music on the stereo, their voice high-pitched and off-key.

 _"I'm just a bachelor, I'm looking for a partner. Someone who knows how to ride, without even falling off..."_

I shut my eyes tight, trying to block out the atrocious noise. Whoever is singing, they sound like a cat squealing in agony.

"Hey, you like this song, too?" I hear a guy's voice. Elliot. But what is he doing here? Unless he's with Kate, Anastasia's best friend and roommate?

"Yeah, I love this song. Sing it with me!"

 _"If you're horny, let's do it. Ride it, my pony, my saddle's waiting. Come and jump on it..."_

Jump on it indeed. I make a break for it. I sneak towards the window, then force myself out. Using my legs, I jump off the ledge, landing in the bushes. A piece of leaf stabs me in the eye, but it's well worth it, instead of having to stick around listening to that awful noise as Elliot starts singing along with her.

 **ANAPOV:**

When I get home to the apartment after work, I can't help getting the suspicion that something is weird. Something feels... off. When I head into my bedroom to get changed, I see firstly that my top drawer has been left open. It appears as if someone has been searching through my underwear, though no pairs seem to be missing. It's when I look at my bed that I see what's on my pillow. My heart feels as if its frozen, my body thawing into ice.

My vibrator. My vibrator is wedged between my pillows, sticking upright like a man's real erect penis.

Next to it, sitting on my crinkled mattress, is my folder with my Christian Grey collection. Holy crap. _Did someone break into the apartment, only to look through my personal things?_

 ** _In response to a reviewer, you don't have to read this and I respect your own personal opinion. I started writing this story to amuse myself (and hopefully amuse others and get them to laugh along the way.) Yes, the story is disturbing, but there are many writers on FF writing brilliant, seriously good stories if you wish to read them (Mine isn't one of them). It's tongue-in-cheek, something not to be taken seriously. If it offends you or disturbs you, you have a right to say but I'm not forcing you to read this silliness._**


	15. Chapter 15

**Hope this one isn't a disappointment. A bit silly as usual. :P**

 **Chapter 15**

My first initial thought is not to call the police. I'm sure its a joke. It's Kate. Kate has played a prank on me, knowing it would freak me out a little. If so, she has succeeded. Kudos to Kate.

"Very funny, Kate," I scream out to her, moving towards the bed to snatch up my vibrator. "I know you like to joke that I haven't seen a man's erect penis yet, but this is really going a step too far."

I hide my trusty vibrator back under a few pairs of underwear, looking around again. That's when I see it on the floor. A glove. A blue latex glove. Immediately, I remember my dream man surprising me by running up behind me when I went jogging. He was wearing the _exact same_ gloves. Great balls of fire, was it not Kate that did this as a prank, but Christian?

The curtains blow near me, startling me. My heart is pounding. I feel genuinely scared, though I don't know why. After all, I have wicked knife skills and if need be, I can go into full on cray-cray mode. The window's open, which means that... someone broke through the window. _Christian._ If it _was_ Christian, it would mean he saw my poster. _And_ my folder with my collection of his interviews and photo-shoots, no doubt. Oh, please no. Now he'll think I'm some loony fan obsessed with him.

 _But the gloves!_

The blue latex glove lies there on the floor near my bed, limp like a wet rag. Did Christian do this?

I kneel down, grabbing the glove, caressing it. I can almost still feel the heat of his hand through it.

I picture him breaking in through my window, wearing the glove. Touching my things. Rifling through my underwear drawer. Looking at my trusted old vibrator that, when no other man seems interested, has never failed me when it comes to giving me the gift of multiple orgasms.

Aww, Christian. How unexpected. How... romantic.

An idea forms as I stand to close my window. I mightn't know much about relationships with the opposite sex, but I feel as if I do know a thing or two from watching various movies. Men like to feel strong and masculine. They like women to be damsels, to feel as if they are protecting them. Maybe I can use what has happened to my advantage?

I head into the kitchen, wondering why Kate never answered. There's a note for me on the fridge.

 _Heading out to dinner with Elliot._

 _And yes, I may be sleeping over at his place where some sexual healing may or may not be happening. See you laters and love you._

Wow. Things must be real serious between my brother in law and Kate. I sort of envy her, because as far as Christian and I are concerned, it has been moving slower than I would have preferred. We haven't even made love yet. But back onto my plan. Maybe tonight I can do something to change that? After all, sometimes a woman's got to make the first move.

I grab my phone, finding Christian's number. He answers on the second ring. "Anastasia?" His voice. I could listen to him reading me the phone-book or on how to apply hemorrhoid cream and it would be captivating.

"Something has happened," I say, trying to sound really scared. In high school drama class, my teacher Mrs Dwyer said some people have the ability to act and that it comes naturally to them. She said I was not one of those gifted students with the ability to act genuinely. Well, I'll show her, won't I? "I'm really traumatized right now."

"What? Are you all right?" He sounds so concerned, so panicked. _Bingo._

"I think someone broke into the house." My voice shakes and goes higher, as if I've just stabbed my toe on the corner of a desk. Even to my own ears, I sound surprisingly convincing. "I...I'm really scared. Can you come over?"

"Come over? When?"

"Now, please." And then I burst into tears, actual real tears. Tears cascade down my cheeks and I whimper, my nose running. I never knew I was so good at this. "Kate went with your brother and I'm home all alone by myself. I just need someone strong to stay with me in case whoever did this comes back. I need a man to look after me so badly and to protect me."

"I'll be right there," he says desperately after a moment and I smile to myself. _Yep, I so have him right where I want him._ "It may take me a while to get there, but I'll see you soon. Lock the door until I arrive. Try to remain calm."

He hangs up and I sniffle loudly, wiping my runny nose on the back of my hand. _Wow, that was super easy._ I was right. Men do like it when women play up the whole damsel in distress role. Now he's rushing over here, misguidedly believing that he'll be my strong knight in shining armor, protecting me from the big, bad person that broke in through my window, which I am about 99% certain was Christian himself. He's protecting me from himself.

Rushing into the bathroom, I fix up my hair while blowing my nose. I want to cry in front of him when he gets here to incorporate some drama into the situation, but at the same time, it doesn't take much to become an ugly crier. My eyes tend to get puffy, my lips fuller and swollen, and my nose red after about three minutes of flat-out crying. I'll just have to time it. Now where the heck did I put my favorite lipstick?

A knocking noise comes suddenly at the front door and I make a fake loud shrieking sound, clutching a hand over my chest.

"It's just me, Anastasia," Christian shouts through the door. "I'm here now. Your safe with me."

It didn't take him long to get here at all; Just under five minutes, at the most. Was he somewhere close by when I called him?

Working myself up into sobbing quietly again, I open the front door, pushing myself into him. I bury my face into his shoulder, making a few sniffling noises while his arms come around me, squeezing me into him, holding me close. _Look at me now, Mrs Dwyer! And you said I can't act to save my life!_

"Where did it happen?" he asks, very grimly. He pulls me away and turns to close the front door, locking it up. The poor damsel in me mourns the loss of contact in his arms.

"Through there." I lift up my hand, pointing towards my bedroom weakly. "Someone broke into my room through the window. I don't know if they are still in there though."

Before I can even so much as glance at Christian's face to see any revealing sign that confirms that it was, in fact, him as my intruder, he moves down the hallway like a man on a mission towards my room, investigating. He seems so fearless, so calm, like he's a bad-ass superhero about to defend my honor. Belatedly, I remember the poster still glue-tacked up on my bedroom ceiling. _Triple crap!_

"Wait!" I cry out, running after him. Only its too late.

His face is wide-eyed with alarm as he stares open-mouthed at the poster of him on my bedroom ceiling. Now I begin to have my self-doubts about whether it actually _was_ Christian who did this. He looks pretty damn shocked by the picture. Shit, maybe it _wasn't_ Christian that broke in? Or maybe he's just a really good actor? Mrs Dwyer would be proud.

Either way, I know what comes next and I will not just stand there and take it lightly. This is it, the end. The poster is too much for him. He'll turn and run now, screaming like the helpless victim in a horror film. He'll run for the hills, reducing me to have to chase after him, wailing like a banshee for his love.

To my shock, he doesn't run. He walks further into my room, glancing around. He looks under my bed, behind the bedroom door. What? But he totally saw the poster then? I don't think I understand the lack of reaction?

He turns to look at me with both hands on his hips, his eyebrows raised. He lifts a hand to comb his fingers through his hair. "Well, there isn't anyone in here?" Oh, god. Does he think I'm making it up now? That it's all a delusion?

"I know someone _did_ break in," I mutter strongly. "My window was left halfway open and it was as if someone went through my underwear drawer! My things were moved! I'm _not some crazy girl_ who imagined it!" Like clockwork, a tear trickles down my left cheek.

"I'm not saying that I believe you made it up, Anastasia," he mutters under his breath. "I believe you."

His face softens dramatically and he ambles forward to hold me, his arms coming around me again, holding me tight. I breathe out a sigh of relief to be held to him. It's just as I imagined; If only I could freeze this moment so that he can hold me close and embrace me forever. It's perfection.

He presses one hand up against the nape of my neck, tangling his fingers through the strands of my hair, forcing my head into his jacket as he starts swaying gently. He can't resist holding me. As a woman, I must just look so naturally fragile to him. It must instinctively bring out a protective, maternal instinct within him. My inner Gollum has awakened, his grey withered fingernails clenching into Christian's shoulders possessively, keeping him near.

"You make me feel so safe when you hold me," I whisper, fake crying into his jacket as I bring up both hands, moving them along his arms through the fabric. "I wish you didn't have to leave right now. What if they come back and attack me?"

"They _wouldn't dare_ attack you," Christian hisses, as if he's thoroughly repulsed at the thought. "Besides, I can stay the whole night, if you'd like? You said you were stuck here alone tonight, didn't you? I really don't feel as though you are in the right condition to be alone right now."

A gasp escapes me, but its a sincere one. I lift up my head, meeting his gaze hopefully. _Would he actually stay?_

"You would do that for me?"

Christian studies me with his eyes. " _Of course_ I would. I do martial arts training twice a week."

I'm not sure why he's telling me that he does martial arts and why he feels its necessary, but all I know, is that my plan is definitely working. He's _staying_.

"Come. Maybe we should watch the TV for a while so it distracts you and takes your mind off of all of it?" Moving away slightly, he still holds me squashed against his side, leading the way out of my room and slowly down the hallway. I still cannot get over him not even batting an eyelid over the poster. He guides me into the living room as if he knows where everything in my apartment is, his hand rubbing my back. I feel so content, so pleased. "Should we watch a movie?" He looks down at our cluttered coffee table with all the DVD's messily stacked on it. Damn it, Kate. Why couldn't she have cleaned the house up a bit before she left?

I flush for some reason when he picks up our copy of Fatal Attraction. He turns it over, reading the cover, his hand still stroking me.

"I watched some of this on YouTube," he admits. "There were a few decent clips, but not the actual full film itself."

"It's, um, one of my all-time favorites," I confess, a bit hesitantly. "I just find the characters so... _relatable_." _Wow, way to go, Steele. Confessing that you find the Bunny Boiler relatable._

"We'll watch it then."

It's sort of ironic and scary, but we end up sitting on Kate and my old faded couch together, watching Fatal Attraction. He has an arm around me, and he actually doesn't seem to mind or comment on it when I purposefully move to rest my head on his chest. My heart feels as though its screaming out loud, bursting at the seams with joy. This is so perfect and, admittedly, everything I have always dreamed of and imagined.

This is real life! Christian Grey, my dream man, is here in my apartment watching Fatal Attraction with me, and we're snuggling! Kate used to joke that I have real problems, being so obsessed over a man that I've only seen on a television interview. Yet here he is, in the flesh, in our apartment.

Christian Grey is here, and if he goes into my kitchen, he will see the _Grey Enterprises Holdings_ mug I brought off E-Bay with his very own company logo written on it to support the hubby's cause. If he looks into our washing machine, he would see his very own underwear that I stole from the Heathman that time. _Crap, his underwear._

We get to the scene in the movie where Alex goes nuts on Dan ( _I WON'T be ignored, Dan!_ ) and Christian says something, something low and soft.

"What?" I ask in confusion, riveted. God, I identify with the character so much that its scary. I can see myself easily acting in the way she does, but with Christian, and I don't know what that means for me as a person.

"I said that, oddly enough, I find her incredibly sexy," he repeats, lifting his voice over the volume of the TV so that I can hear him.

What? He actually finds Alex Forrest sexy, despite her psychotic yet misunderstood tendencies? _Man after my own heart..._

"Really? You do?" I ask, surprised. "I don't think any man is meant to find her sexy. She's supposed to be unnerving and clingy. While I don't find her sexy, I find I can empathize with her. She's very... relatable. I can understand why she did what she did with him. She just wanted his love and attention and he made her feel like some cheap fling."

"She's definitely my ideal woman," he says. "She's just so... _passionate_."

 _I_ can be like her. _I_ can be his ideal woman.

* * *

"Where's your bathroom?" Christian asks once we get ready to retire to bed. _Yes, bed. My bed. Together. Sweet Lord Jesus, it's happening!_

"Um, the second door down the hall." The instance the bathroom door closes, I run into my bedroom, climbing onto my bed. I get up onto my feet, wobbling on the mattress, trying to reach high enough to tear the poster down.

It's my most favorite picture of him, hence why I put it up on my wall as a poster.

He is modeling for a menswear advertisement for Prada, in a light grey pin-striped business suit and tie. But it's the fact that Christian is looking directly into the lens of the camera with those intense gray eyes of his that I like the most about it. He looks so smoldering and pensive with his dark hair combed back and slick with those yummy cheekbones and that angular nose, and when I wake up of a morning, if I look up, its as though he is looking down at me, observing me. Him looking into my eyes on a poster while I use my vibrator, its a lethal and effective orgasm-inducing combination.

Unfortunately for me, my fingers barely scrape the ceiling though. God, this is so not good. He'll see the poster. He'll think I'm some weirdo, bat-shit crazy for him. Which _I am_ , but still...

I trip over my own feet, planking headfirst into my pillow and bouncing on the mattress. It's just no good. I realize it's too late when I hear the bathroom door open. He's coming in. I can't get the poster down.

I roll onto my back in time to see Christian standing in the entrance of my bedroom. He's just staring at me, and here I am, panting, my hair strewn all over my face. I part my lips, blowing a strand of hair away from my mouth.

Staring into my eyes and nothing else, he removes his jacket, throwing it on the floor. Then he grabs the neck of his shirt in both hands, pulling it up and sliding it off his body. Shirtless. He's _shirtless_ and god, he's so gorgeous, he looks airbrushed. I feel a weird sensation, as if my ovaries are exploding at the sight, my belly tingling.

"So I'm sleeping in your bed with you, I take it?"

I cannot even speak. I am reduced to nodding.

I feel my nipples harden beneath my shirt in greeting as I watch his muscles ripple as he saunters slowly towards my bed, and I feel like I can't even breathe when my eyes focus on the dark trail of hair that goes down past his bellybutton. I lick my lips, my hands twitching at my sides. _Touch! Touch!_

As if enjoying watching my reaction to it, he cocks his head to the side as he slowly brings both hands to the front of his trousers, unbuttoning them and unzipping them. Then he steps out of them, his eyes shining at me, and then he just stands there, clad in his boxer briefs. _Red_ boxer briefs with Calvin Klein written around them on the elastic band that holds them up. Yes, _I am_ looking _that_ closely to read what brand they are. They hang deliciously low on his pelvis, showing off V-hip indentations and the very prominent bulge of his package. _Holy cheeseballs!_

Can people die of cardiac arrest at my age? Because I think I'm close to it.

Realizing how weird I am being, I force my eyes away, getting up on my knees to pull the blankets back on my bed. Something tells me I will definitely be unable to sleep tonight. I get comfy under the sheets and he pulls back a corner of the bed to sit and slide in, and I stare up at the ceiling, my heart pounding.

There are _two_ Christian's in my room. One real, and one a poster. How on earth is this happening? _Oh, my god!_ One of his feet brushes up against mine, but I'm not sure if that's deliberate. _His foot is touching me! His toes!_

"Are you all right?" Christian breathes, sounding amused while making himself comfortable on the pillow next to mine. I turn to look at him, and my eyes immediately land on those marks on his chest, almost near his nipples. I want to lick his chest. Heaven help me.

I drag my eyes up to his face, feeling myself redden when I immediately see that he's staring at my face. Great. He probably saw me perving. "Um, y-yes."

He breathes out raggedly through his mouth. "Well, this is certainly a first."

A first? More like our first. The first of many.

"Well, we better get used to it while we can," I mumble before I can stop myself.

"What?" he whispers, his brow furrowed.

"It won't just be us for too long. Wait until the kids are here and they start waking us up every morning by jumping on the bed." I shut my eyes closed, mentally shooting myself in the head. Shit. What is wrong with me? _Just zip it, Ana. Zip it like a padlock. You're unbearable._

A funny snorting noise comes from him in response, and when I slowly reopen my eyes to look at him, I see he is snoring. Already, he's asleep. That was fast. At least he didn't hear my remark about our children in the future-to-be then. I turn on my side, watching his face, smiling to myself. His eyes are closed, his mouth slightly parted as he snores. My dream man is sleeping in the same bed as me, and all I can do is stare at him adoringly while he snores. _Or well, I thought he was sleeping..._

"Don't stare at me. It's disturbing," he murmurs quietly, sort of self-consciously. Was I being that obvious? I thought he was fast asleep?

Taking heed, I turn on my other side away from him, reaching out to switch off my lamp.

My head is racing as I settle back in. I have fantasized about this for months, and now I have him here, right where I want him. And now we're just lying in bed, not even touching or kissing? I want him so badly that I'm throbbing. The Gollum inside me wants to go all out, possessing him. Should I do something? If I don't, it seems like a wasted moment. I stare up at the dark ceiling in frustration. I want him! I won't be ignored!

"Oh, fuck pretending to sleep," I hear him mumble out of nowhere, and its as if my body has its own mouth and that its screaming in exaltation the instance he rolls on top of me, his knees and feet between mine, his warm body slathering against me as his mouth finds mine blindly, claiming me.

 **PS: Sorry I had to edit the chapter as a vital part I wrote was missing t the ending grr. Hope you enjoyed it and that it made you laugh.**


	16. Chapter 16

**Thank you so much. Hope you enjoy this one Lol. Weirdness abounds.**

* * *

 **Chapter 16**

It just got real and its happening.

Christian Grey, my dream man, is on top of me, on my bed. Kissing. We're kissing on my bed, beneath the sheets. I've fantasized about this over a hundred times during the months ever since I first witnessed the glory that is him on a live interview. I am incredibly pleased to report that, in real life, my innermost, dirtiest fantasies pale to this moment.

I reach up with my hands, combing my fingers through the soft strands of his hair, caressing his head as he moves it to the side, deepening our kiss. He tastes so much better than I thought he would when he thrusts his tongue into my mouth, stroking his tongue against mine, starting a passionate and quick rhythm.

He makes the most adorably hot moaning noise, deep at the back of his throat, and I think I'm guilty of a few moans myself. It's so hot with his body over mine, keeping me prisoner beneath him with his legs trapped around mine, his arms.

As he brings up a hand to run his fingers through the strands of my hair as we resume kissing, panting all over each other every time our lips part for the smallest and briefest second, I start to feel it stirring within me.

It is something I would have preferred not to happen unless we're making love with him inside of me right where his Little Christian belongs or when he is touching me intimately, stroking me with his fingers.

I know the feeling all too well; It is something I feel when I close my eyes and touch myself to fantasies of him. When I use my vibrator on high speed while staring into his intense, smoldering gray gaze as he peers back down at me on the poster. That toe-crinkling, euphoric feeling that immediately takes your breath away as you whimper _'Ugh, yes, Christian'_ into your pillow in the empty bedroom.

They always talk about premature ejaculation for men, but what about women? What happens when we start to feel a little too in-the-moment and it happens prematurely for women as well? A premature orgasm?

Maybe it's my fault for thinking too much about this happening with him obsessively over the months- even when I hadn't met him? Maybe I've been anticipating for this to happen too much, and now I've ruined it?

I try to think of something to delay it. Maggots. The creepy possessed girl's face from the Exorcist. Still, I feel it... tightening my chest...squirming in my belly... making me throb... It doesn't work. I bury my face into his bare shoulder as I shudder, a small 'Oh' noise escaping me. I'm breathing heavily, shuddering, flushed in the face, my armpits feeling sweaty. How mortifying.

"What?" Christian breathes in confusion in my ear. "Did you just...?" He falters, his breaths ragged and disjointed.

"Yes," I confess quietly, not without shame. I can't even breathe properly. "I... I think I just did. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, Anastasia. I just didn't realize I was that good? I barely even touched you?"

An abashed giggle escapes me. _Oh, yes. He is that good._

What is wrong with me, though? Experiencing an orgasm just by him kissing me and being on top of me with his warm, mostly naked body, keeping me pinned beneath him? I am awash with both humiliation and guilt as he carefully moves off me to lay on his side. I can hear him panting through the darkness in my bedroom still. Great, now I've turned him off due to it no doubt.

My cheeks flame with heat as I bring up both hands, cupping them over my face. "I'm so embarrassed right now," I murmur into my fingers.

"Don't be embarrassed. There's nothing to be embarrassed about. In fact, I loved that you just... came."

"I guess I just... I've been waiting for this for so long and, now that its happening for real..." I press my lips together, stopping myself from saying more. There is no need to come across as more freaky than I probably already do.

"Really?" He asks, surprise coating his voice. "You've been waiting for this?" To my relief, Christian doesn't sound remotely disgusted or turned-off.

"Ever since that interview you did."

"Which interview? I've done many interviews?"

"The one for NBC eight months ago on the Today Show." It must be the fact that we are shrouded in darkness that allows me to confess all of this to him. It is somehow easier to be honest with him when I can't see him, when we are surrounded in pitch-black darkness. How he is reacting- whether positive or negative- is a sheer mystery. Just how I like it. "I just found you to be so personable and genuine when I heard you talk on there. Especially with how you spoke so passionately about donating money to help Uganda's impoverished and the hungry."

"So you saw me eight months ago on a television interview, and you've liked me ever since?" he asks slowly. He's just curious, I think.

"In a nutshell, yes. I probably sound like such a crazy stalker now, don't I?" Crazy stalker is probably an understatement.

"Actually, far from it." I feel my heart race when I feel him move, the mattress on my bed tipping forward. He presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss to my cheek. The Gollum in me opens his bright blue eyes real wide, basking in the attention from his Master. "I think that is the sexiest thing I have ever heard, Anastasia."

I don't know whether to believe him. I turn my head towards his voice, arching my brows skeptically. Which he can't even see, of course. "Really?" I ask doubtfully. "You find that to be sexy?"

"Yes. I do."

I think I'm in love with this man, I realize. Yes, we have only just truly "met" in person roughly two or three weeks ago at the most, but I knew he was bound to become mine the instance I observed him on the Today Show. When its real and its meant to be, you can just tell immediately. I knew the instance I saw Christian, sitting in that stool chair in the studio, being interviewed, that he was the one. _My_ one.

He's meant to be my husband, the father of my children. I'm pretty damn certain about that.

He just can't see it yet. But he _will_ eventually.

In fact, I am almost confident that he has already started to suspect as much.

He broke into my apartment through the window, touching all my things. He put my vibrator on my bed, propping it up against my pillows. He doesn't care that I have a poster of him from one of his photo-shoots on my wall; he acted like it didn't phase him one bit. He finds Alex Forrest sexy with how she went psychotic and obsessive over Dan in Fatal Attraction. And with me, I resonate with that character in ways I am not too proud of. How can he not be beginning to realize that we're perfect for each other?

Any other woman would have called the cops the instance she realized the guy she likes had broken into her apartment. Had I called them? No, I hadn't, because its love. When its love, it means forgiveness. All the bad things a person does, because you love them, you find it romantic of them. I forgive him for breaking into the apartment and doing stuff in my bedroom. It's very attractive of him.

I turn on my side towards him, resting my cheek flat against my pillow. "Tell me something personal about yourself that hasn't been said on your Wikipedia page," I whisper eagerly through the silence.

"Something personal about myself that hasn't been said on my Wikipedia page?" he repeats, sounding deeply thoughtful. "I can't say I have ever dared to look on my Wikipedia page before so I wouldn't know what it says."

"You haven't even once Googled yourself?" I laugh, far too amused by this than I probably should be.

"It's true. I haven't. Frankly, I can barely endure looking at photographs of myself for magazine articles most of the time." Him saying that, it shocks me, because how can he possibly not like to look at himself? He's literally walking, talking perfection. In my view, anyway. Does he maybe have deep-seated self-esteem issues that he likes to keep to himself? It seems too impossible to believe.

I think deeply for a second, working out what I want to know. I've read his Wikipedia page over a billion times and know it by heart- and I Google him regularly. "What's your favorite movie?" I finally settle on.

"It's hard to say, but _The Piano Teacher_ has been a film I like to watch regularly. That, and _The Graduate_."

"Why, Mrs Robinson, you're trying to seduce me," I mutter in the dark, imitating the male character in the movie.

Christian chuckles. "Yes, that's the one."

"Why _The Graduate_? Personally, I found most of the characters in that film unsympathetic, except for maybe Mrs Robinson's daughter."

"It's just, oddly enough, how my life turned out. I can relate, just like you can with Fatal Attraction."

"What? You had your girlfriend's mother trying to seduce you?"

"Not... exactly. But there was an older woman. An _older married_ woman when I was fifteen, a close friend of my mother's. I suppose you could say that I had my very own Mrs Robinson."

I feel my blood turn ice cold at his words, my teeth gnashing together unhappily. _What? He was with an older, married woman when he was fifteen? What the fricking frack?_

"I don't even know why I'm telling you this," he whispers, sounding uncomfortable. Unnerved. "Usually, this sort of stuff I mainly speak to my therapist about. Never anyone else."

 _Hmm_ _, he sees a therapist._ Maybe that's exactly what I need myself? Someone to talk to? Then again, I don't think I would like any therapist knowing what goes into this mind of mine. I bet they'd consider me certifiable.

But the fact that he hasn't spoken about this to anyone else but his therapist softens the blow a little. He must know that he can trust me, that I won't judge. "Are you still in contact with her?" I sound like I'm choking. "Do you still... have sexual relations?" J _ee, how very Bill Clinton of me. I did not have sexual relations with that woman._

"No, our sexual relationship ended long ago. It isn't like that."

The way he explains it, it sounds as though he is still in contact with the cretin. _The Mega Beast._ I don't like that at all. _He's only supposed to be for me, not for some Mrs Robinson-like character from the past._ Reaching behind me, I grab my pillow, squishing it in my arms for something to both hug and hold onto.

"Now, our relationship is more so strictly... business related. Professional. She helped give me a loan of money when I first started my Grey Holdings business."

"So you _are_ still in contact with her?"

"Yes. About... three or four times a month, we meet. To discuss business related things."

I close my arms around the fluffy padded pillow, my mind drifting off to scary and dark places. I imagine meeting this woman. Grabbing her by the strands of her fake hair extensions. And smashing her head against the wall.

 _Your dealings with my man ends here right now, Mega Beast. He's mine!_

 _Besides, there can be room for only ONE Mrs Grey..._

Even where my mind takes me to horrifies me sometimes.

* * *

When I wake, half-deep in sleep still, I think I hear strange rustling noises at the back of my mind. It's like someone is rustling through a plastic bag- digging around, searching for something. I hope Kate and I don't have rats around the apartment, ravenous for pieces of food to the point where they have resorted to eating through our days old food scraps.

The thought shakes me out of my addled brain fairly quickly, plunging me brutally into an alert wakefulness. I can handle many things. But raisins and rats are not one of them. I feel my pulse scatter at the thought of wrinkly raisin-like rat droppings being scattered around the kitchen.

I reach out with my arm, only my fingers don't come into contact with my Christian's warm, bare skin in the bed beside me. I sit up, distressed and confused. It's still dark in my room, enough that I find it hard to properly see. _Did he leave early? Oh, God. Is he with her now? The Mega Beast?_

The plastic-rustling noises happen again. I climb out of bed, surrendering to the fact that I have no choice but to go see if there _are_ rabid rats in the house wanting to infect me with the Black Plague. My bedroom door has been left open. I start to think that maybe Christian did leave.

Shivering, I pad barefooted down the dark hallway. The noises in the kitchen intensify. Once I reach the entryway, I see a large shadow. Something is searching through the rubbish bin- something big. Can rats get that big? Feeling around for the light to the kitchen, I brace myself before flicking it on to see.

The lights illuminate the kitchen suddenly and... standing by the rubbish bin, turning around, wide-eyed with alarm after having gone through the dirty contents is...

 _Christian?_

He blanches as he straightens up from going through the rubbish, swallowing loudly. He seems guilty, as if I've been catching him doing something far worse. But why the trash? If he was hungry, all he had to do was help himself to getting something out of the fridge to eat as a midnight snack?

"Oh fuck," he breathes shakily, running a hand through his hair, hygiene be damned.

My inner Gollum hunches his back, scratching his balding head in confusion at the sight as he shrieks in a nasal voice, _"Master should be resting. Master needs to keep up his strength."_

"Um, what... what are you doing, Christian?" I blab out in confusion. I feel my nipples stand erect through my shirt at the chill in the kitchen. They are basically saluting him, those nips of mine. "Why are you going through my trash?" I slide my eyes over to the numbers on the microwave. "It's three thirty in the morning?"

He swallows again, watching me warily.

I'm not sure whether to laugh or to feel afraid. Here he is, at a ridiculous hour, going through the garbage, dressed in just his trousers and nothing else. Why? What good reason could he have for this?

"If you're that hungry, you can feel free to get something to eat from out of the fridge. I don't expect you to search my garbage for scraps to eat. I'm sure that's really... unhygienic?"

He runs both hands down the sides of his trousers, cocking his head slowly to the side. There's a cool, wicked gleam to his gray eyes. "What makes you think that the reason I was going through your trash is only because I'm hungry and I was looking for food scraps?"

Oh, how confusing. "But weren't you?" I shiver, covering my nipples with my arms. "I mean, what other reason would you be looking through the trash?"

"Truthfully?"

He's playing with me. This is a mind game. I love mind games.

"If I tell you the truth of what I was _really_ doing, I expect you to run straight to your phone."

"And why would I do that?" I ask breathlessly.

"To call the police." He takes a step towards me, shrugging. Distantly, I am reminded of a lion approaching its prey in stealthy, silent moves. "If you were any normal, sane woman, you would."

"And who says I'm a sane, normal woman to begin with?" I throw back at him, teasing him, enjoying this far more than I probably should. He takes a step closer to me, but I won't back down. Maybe this is one animal that wants to get caught by the big, bad lion?

He stops still from his stalking, leaning back slightly on the heels of his bare feet. A low hiss of breath escapes through his parted lips, his pupils large and dilated. I have to say this look is very attractive of him. He looks full predator.

"Just say that... the true reason I was looking through your trash was because I was looking for mementos. What then?" He eyes me, gauging my reaction.

I try to look as unfazed as I feel. I shrug. "Ah, so it's the whole... serial killer memento-collecting thing, huh?"

Christian compresses his lips tightly together, fighting a smile. "Exactly."

He starts to move towards me, light on his feet, but I'm too prepared for it. I swerve right on my legs, moving behind the kitchen counter so that it obstructs and blocks the lower half of me. My eyes on nothing else but his, I bring my hands down, pulling down my old comfy pajama bottoms.

I fling my ankles free of them, then start yanking down my underwear, wiggling.

"I'm assuming this is the sort of memento that you're looking for, right? For your quilt?"

All the while, Christian remains where he is, still at a distance, watching me, both confused and captivated by my actions. This is so thrilling, so... sexy. I grab my underwear once I'm out of them, and I toss them at him over the counter before stepping hastily back into my trouser bottoms again. He catches them, almost effortlessly.

What he does next, has my heart racing.

He bunches my underwear in both hands, flattening it. Then he shoves the material beneath his nose, and his eyes close. I watch, mesmerized, as he inhales my underwear in strongly through his nose several times. Oh, my. Bringing them away, his mouth parts as he opens his eyes slowly to focus them on me again. He looks hungry... famished.

"Warm," he breathes appreciatively, and he brings my bunched up underwear to his nose again. He sniffs, almost reverentially. My heart soars. I have never seen something so hot as Christian Grey sniffing my underwear- and loving it. "I can still feel the warmth of you on them, Anastasia. The way you... smell after you came last night when I kissed you. You smell so..."- He pauses for a moment, inhaling again, as if thinking over the correct words for what I am- "...intoxicating," he finally settles on, his voice husky, low. "Divine"

I feel myself throbbing _down there_ at his words. Yet at the same time, the most curious sting of annoyance. Where's my underwear from him as promised?

"Aren't you forgetting something?" I ask, frustrated.

He pulls my underwear away, his brows furrowing. "What?" he whispers in misunderstanding. Then he looks down. "Oh, of course." He tucks my panties into his trouser pocket, then he reaches down, pulling down his trousers. The kitchen counter even obstructs him unfairly. There's a few rustling noises of his briefs being removed as he stares at me, blinking slowly, his gray eyes not once leaving mine.

Then there is a flash of red flying through the air towards me and I jump up, catching them just in time.

"Good catch," Christian remarks in amusement, pulling up his trousers.

Warm. His red boxer briefs still retain his heat when I stretch them out with my fingers. I love the fact that they do.

"Happy now that I've extended the courtesy?" he asks knowingly.

"Very." I cannot suppress the wide smile that comes across my lips. But it seems Christian can't either. He smiles a tight-lipped smile back at me, his eyes dancing. _Who knew sharing underwear could be the ultimate key to finding happiness?_

"Aren't you going to sniff them?" he asks in confusion after a moment, observing me.

"Sniffing isn't what I want to do with them. _Wearing_ them, however..."

His eyes widen as his eyebrows dart upwards. I think I've succeeded in making him astonished. _Go me!_ "You intend to wear them?" he repeats, his voice shaking. "You want to wear my underwear?"

"Yep, I do," I admit, probably too carelessly. _Shit, what if that creeps him out?_ I eye him carefully, trying to find any telling reaction. He just seems...pleased and oddly humbled by the knowledge? "Sorry," I add ruefully. "I probably sound freaky."

"Not at all. If anything, I find the... idea of you wearing my underwear incredibly sexy." He closes his eyes for a moment, and as he reopens them again, I see his eyes are blazing. "I wish I could have you." The aching longing in his voice, the sincerity, it startles me and makes me feel a sheer aching need of my own.

 _I wish he could have me, too._ "Oh? And what's stopping you? Like I said, I'll be your willing victim. There'll be no running from me."

"We can't." He sighs loudly, bringing up a hand to rake his fingers through his hair, his eyes narrowed. "Unfortunately, I didn't think of bringing any protection. Any condoms. Honestly, you sounded so fearful on the phone. Having you was the very least of what I was expecting to happen when you asked me over here."

 _Damn, he has no condoms._

"Do we even need them?" I ask daringly. What? I'm going to be his wife in the not-too-distant future anyway. He'll have to impregnate me sooner or later.

"Of course we do." His expression goes deadly serious. "Safety at _all_ times, Miss Steele. I'm not one known to be reckless."

"Fair enough. It was worth a try." I step towards him while placing his underwear on the counter and _he_ is the one to recoil back this time.

The roles have been reversed evidently. Now _I'm_ the big, bad lion. I reach out with my hands, grabbing his face and cupping it between my hands. I run my fingertips along his jaw tenderly. He flinches, his eyes widening. I feel him tremble between my fingertips, his eyes searching my face. There is a fleeting moment of panic in his eyes for some reason, but it dissipates the instance he realizes I just want to hold his face in my hands.

"Jumpy, aren't you?" I whisper. "Do you think I'm going to hurt you?"

He swallows audibly, his jaw twitching. His lips part marginally as we stare into each other's eyes. "Frankly, with you, when I'm around you I am never quite sure what to expect."

 _Oh, Christian,_ I think to myself, ruffling my fingers through his hair, scratching the nape of his neck with my fingernails. His eyes close as he swallows again. There is nothing quite like holding his precious skull between my hands. _He's so perfect. How can such a perfect face truly exist in this world?_

When he opens his eyes reluctantly to peer back into mine, he reaches up with his hands, grazing his palms over my forearms, my wrists.

 _Your mine,_ I think possessively, wishing to be able to convert it telepathically to his mind so that he himself knows. _Don't you see that, Christian? Every single part of you, is mine. Or well, it will be very soon. I'll make sure of that._

I move my fingers along his jaw, feeling the light roughness of stubble on the back of them. Without warning, he closes his fingers over each of my wrists, yanking my arms away.

"I... I need to go," he breathes, his voice uneven. "I _should_ go."

 _What? Go? Go where?_

Like a cornered, trapped animal, he moves back quickly, a low oath escaping through his mouth as he saunters away from me, back down the hallway.

"Go?" I repeat in confusion. "But it's just turned four o'clock in the morning?" I find him in my bedroom, throwing his shirt back on. He searches around the room for his jacket hastily. He finds it and shoves it on, running his hand through his hair. He's like a hamster on crack, darting around the room at full speed. "Why don't you stay?" I suggest, trying to sound gentle rather than desperate. "That way, I can make us breakfast in the morning? I'm really good at making a pretty mean batch of pancakes?"

It's obvious I am not going to get my way. He plops down onto the side of the bed, dragging his shoes towards him to put them on. He won't even dare look at me. _What the heck is happening? Why is he doing this to us? It was all so perfect and then, now look at what he's gone and done!_

"Everyone loves pancakes?" I try again futilely.

Christian stands once putting on his shoes. Finally, he looks at me. He's smiling, but I can tell its forced. "I appreciate the offer, but I shouldn't, Anastasia. I... I need to go." He ducks past me, rushing towards the door. "I have an early meeting at eight. I need to prepare for it."

He is acting so cold and aloof towards me. Why? It's so frustrating. Something inside me breaks, making me feel frenzied.

"I call bullshit," I spit out, shaking. He stops stock still at the open doorway, his back facing me. "You don't really have a meeting this morning, do you? I've gone and done something, and now I've turned you off, haven't I?"

He spins around to look at me, irritation building in his gray eyes. He looks so torn, so vulnerable. "Of course not. It... isn't you, Anastasia. It..." He's breathing heavily, trembling. "It's _me_. I have to go."

 _It's him? What the hell does he mean? He's perfect_.

"I've already made a huge fucking mess of this by sleeping over. I don't sleep over at women's houses. I don't talk about personal shit. What is it about you that has such a powerful hold on me?"

"What are you-" My words are cut off when suddenly, he lunges down, kissing me. He grabs a fistful of my hair in strands with a hand, yanking me to him. I kiss him back, desperate, needy. Then all too soon, he's moving away. I watch him as he literally runs down the steps of the apartment, jogging fast across the street. _Damn, he runs fast._ It's as if someone is chasing him or like he's running from something that frightens him. He doesn't look back at me.

It only occurs to me once he vanishes around a corner that the person he is frightened of is no doubt me.

 **Hope you enjoyed this one, sorry if it wasn't as humorous as other chapters. Maybe this shows how weird I am haha, to be writing a story like this, but I do hope you like it in all its disturbing weirdness. :P**


	17. Chapter 17

**Hey guys, so sorry for taking so long to update! I've been busy with working and a whole lot of family events. My sister had her second child, I'm an Aunt again, so that's been incredible!**

 **I hope this makes up for it! So sorry to be kept away! Thank you so much for being so amazingly kind, especially when this story is crazy!**

* * *

 **Chapter 17**

It's hard to sleep for the rest of that morning after Christian left.

My brain won't seem to stop ticking. What did I do wrong? Or maybe a more apt question is, what didn't I do wrong? Why did he run away like he was frightened of me? Like I was a murderer in a movie and he's running away as not to be my next victim? I know he said he had a meeting at work, but why do I get the feeling that he was just lying about that and using it as an excuse to leave?

At least I scored a pair of his unwashed underwear, though. They say you always have to think of the positives, more so than the negatives. Sure, he may have ran away from the apartment like he's terrified of me, but on the bright side, at least I have a pair of his unwashed underwear and he has a pair of mine. Just thinking that way and putting it into that perspective, it's a huge mood booster.

 _We traded underwear!_ It's a sign that we are coming that much closer to becoming a true item, a golden couple.

Ana and Christian Grey. Mrs Grey. ChrisAna- like how they make nicknames in Hollywood, a combination of both peoples names. Brangelina. AnaStian. ChrisAna. It won't be long now until he asks me to marry him and suggests fathering our children. I'll just have to be patient.

Trying to fall back to sleep is no use. It's impossible and I think I can smell Christian's scent on the pillows, in my sheets. I need distractions.

I know Kate's going to be coming home soon from sleeping over at my brother in laws house, so I do a quick clean-over of the house, making sure everything is neat and that there is no evidence left of Christian.

The bag of trash that he went through is still left open and looks a little messy in the kitchen so I pull it out, tying it up and racing out down the front steps of the apartment to dump it in the bin. It's really lucky our apartment is usually real easy to clean. I'm thankful while doing a bit of spring cleaning that I don't spot any disgusting raisin-like droppings that hint to our apartment being infested with rats. How frightening would that be!

After the house looks decent enough, I grab a clean pair of clothes and jump into the shower to freshen myself up. Once I'm done with my hair dripping wet but clean, I make a cup of tea, basking in the silence of the apartment.

I'm just settling into Kate and mine's old mustard yellow sofa while cradling my steaming cup of tea when my phone goes off. I've got a text message. Placing my mug on the coaster on the coffee table- thank God for coasters- I find my phone, reading the message.

It's from my husband, of all people. Well, well. He mustn't be too afraid of me then, right?

 _In reference to our agreement, I thought I would let you know that I'm having an early morning coffee with a friend. Location is at 148 Eight Street, Seattle. Then I head into work at a 9.00 start. I expect you to show me the same courtesy in informing me of your whereabouts, in regards to page number 32._

I gnaw on my lip, my head spinning. He lied to me. Ah, so he ran off out of the apartment but it wasn't for a meeting at work. And now he's having coffee with a friend? What friend? A female friend? A woman?

My phone goes off again, startling me.

 _P.S: Thanks for the underwear.  
_ _Keeping it toasty warm in my pocket. ;)_

The Gollum in me shrieks in glee and blushes a little at that end comment. He still has my underwear in his pocket. Still, my mind refuses to let it go. He's with _a friend_ having coffee _. Which_ friend? Why not tell me their actual name, unless he doesn't want me to know?

But he _did_ give me his location, didn't he? I know where he is, and I think I am vaguely familiar with that coffee shop.

Making up my mind, I race into my bedroom, pulling on a pair of socks and a pair of ankle boots. Then I search around my room, finding an old beanie that I brought last year. I haven't worn the beanie in months, partly because Kate made fun of me and said I look stupid. The beanie is orange, with ears and a cute little brown nose. Yeah, it's a fox beanie, but so what?

Sliding it on over my head, I grab the first jacket I can find, slipping it on. I look like a homeless person and my clothes are mismatched and yeah, the fox beanie is slightly ridiculous, but that doesn't matter, does it?

I'm not meant to be seen or heard. This is called being incognito. I know he won't recognize me if I wear a stupid fox beanie with ears.

 _Secret Agent Steele reporting for duty._

I'm going to go to this location and find out who the friend is that he is having coffee with. I just _need_ to know. The only person he is supposed to be having coffee dates with is me, myself, and I.

If Kate knew about this, she'd tell me straight-up that this is a bad idea.

I don't care what she thinks though. This has to be for my own sanity. I just need to know who he is spending time with. I need to know if he is betraying us; Us, as in me and my inner Gollum. My inner Gollum needs to know just as passionately as I do. _We needs to be reassured that he isn't betraying us, we needs to know Master is faithful to us._

Pleasing my inner Gollum, I grab the apartment keys, lock up, and run down the street. I thought about taking the car but that seems too conspicuous so I'll just have to resort to using my feet.

I check my phone again, making sure I got the location right. I'm on Eighth Street now, panting and heaving my guts out, aching with desperation. As it turns out, I _have_ been to the coffee shop before. It's why it sounded so familiar, the location. Kate and I went there once, but the coffee was overpriced and wasn't even that nice to begin with.

I have to not be seen. I have to be invisible. Adjusting my fox beanie around my scalp and trying to get strands of my hair to cover the side of my face, I approach the window, looking in. It takes me barely five seconds to spot my man.

My first instinct is to smash the window, but with my forehead like they do in movies; a signal that the person doing it is bat-shit psycho. Or scream high-pitched at the top of my lungs at the sight. Christian's at a table with a woman. The friend is a woman.

A woman. The friend. A woman. A person of my gender. A WOMAN.

The Mega-Beast? Is she Mrs. Robinson, the woman from his childhood? Is that her?

All I know, is that their body language looks intimate. Christian has both elbows on the table, leaning towards the woman. He's smiling. Smiling and laughing. _And the woman…_

I focus on her, feeling the blood thrum in my ears and my head pound. It's both scary and disconcerting, how strange I feel.

She's about more than half his age, dressed pristine in a white skirt and black blouse with a long pearl necklace dangling into her cleavage line. Yes, I am observing her _that hard_ , and that necklace, it would look good around her throat, choking her.

 _Yeah, I definitely can relate to Alex Forrest in Fatal Attraction._

Looking through the window at them interacting again, I see Christian pull his phone out of his jacket pocket. He's texting someone, and it's obviously not the Mega-Beast sitting in front of him. I relish it when I watch the annoyed look come across the cows face as she sips her coffee, all because Christian is no longer paying her any attention, his thumbs flying over the keypads on his phone. Then he's done with texting, because he shoves it back into his pocket, his gray eyes dreamily inspecting the coffee shop.

Five minutes later while sneakily watching Christian and the Mega-Beast in action, things start to get more exciting. Blonde Mega-Beast stands from her chair while readjusting the back of her skirt while saying something to Christian. Then she moves, strolling towards the entrance where I am.

She walks in a hoity-toity, my-shit-don't-stink-but-yours-does way.

Watching her as she pushes outside the entrance of the coffee shop, I wish I had thought of bringing a knife with me so I can practice my wicked-mad knife skills on her. Or that I somehow had superpowers, as if I was the Mother of Dragons so I could go full Khaleesi mode on her and order my dragons to singe her ass off with fire. Why is Christian even spending time with her? Why?

She stops near the sidewalk across from me, searching through her designer brand bag that has probably cost her millions. Now that she's standing behind me, I can see that her white skirt is far too tight, tight enough that it gives her a ghastly camel toe and that relieves me in some sordid way.

Disrupting my critical ogling of the Mega-Beast, my phone goes off, alerting me to a new message. The Mega-Beast turns to look at me curiously, her eyes icy blue. You can tell she's probably had Botox and cheek-filler injections, because above her perfectly shaped eyebrows are taut, like an invisible hand is constantly pulling up the skin, preventing it from sagging and concealing any signs of visible aging.

Her platinum, shoulder-length hair falls in perfect waves and I begin to feel inadequate, dressed like a homeless person in baggy clothes. I bring up a hand, adjusting my dorky fox beanie nervously, which she arches an eyebrow at. It seems as if she thinking judgmentally, _God, what a pathetic specimen with her dorky fox hat._

I force a smile before checking my phone again. Holy crap. Me! Christian's been texting me. I don't know why that surprises me so much. I'm pleased. If he's texting me and ignoring her, then all signs point into my favor, doesn't it?

 _Well?_

Is what my husbands text message reads and I can't say I understand the context. Well, what?

I breathe in a terrible lungful of smoke and as I look up, on the verge of coughing, I see that its from the Mega-Beast. She has a cigarette dangling in her mouth lit, while she puckers and puffs. I hope that death stick gives her cancer. She looks at me again with her cold, distant eyes, running them slowly down my baggy clothes while she blows a cloud of smoke at me again.

"Nice hat," she mutters at me insincerely, her breath smelly with smoke. I decide I hate her with a passion.

I peer in through the window again at Christian. _Oh, giant hairy testicles!_

Just my luck, he has his head turned and he's staring out at me from where he sits in the cafe. His face is... scrunched up. I think he's almost... confused? Second-guessing whether its actually me or not? Shit, he's noticed me! And in a ridiculous beanie, too! So much for going incognito!

This was so not what I wanted to happen. He isn't meant to see me spying on him. Doing the only thing I know to do, I turn abruptly, making a run for it. My shoulder slams into the Mega-Beast as I rush past her. Sick pleasure courses through me as I imagine the cow falling straight on her ass, her cancer stick falling on her blouse and erupting her up into humongous, smoky flames. Wow, I didn't realize how homicidal and mean-spirited I could be.

My inner Gollum cackles wildly though, entertained by my malicious thoughts.

 _Bitch went down. Mega-Bitch._

* * *

My thoughts are still stuck on what happened this morning while I do a shift at Clayton's. I can't help stressing. Did Christian recognize it was me, even dressed outlandishly the way I was, in super baggy clothes and a fox beanie? I wonder thoughtfully as I use the price gun, ticketing items before hanging them on the shelf. Will he realize I was spying on him?

My phone goes off in my pocket, my ringtone blaring loudly, and I startle, placing the price gun in my trolley before grabbing it out of my apron to check whose calling. My heart sinks. It isn't Christian, but its my mother. I wonder what she wants. I haven't seen her in quite a while, now that she's been married to Husband Number 8.

I click the answer button, checking to see the coast is clear of any of my coworkers in the aisles, before taking her call. We aren't really supposed to answer our phones while working, but oh well.

"Hello, Mom," I say, tucking the phone between my ear and my shoulder while I pick up the gun again. There, I am perfectly capable of multitasking. I'm virtually Wonder Woman. Go me! "How are you?"

"Hello, baby. Are you free to talk?"

"Sure, I am. Is everything okay?"

"Ah, it's actually about your graduation that's coming up." She hesitates, and I immediately know what's going to happen next. I can almost hear a funeral dirge playing in my ears. My mother is so predictable sometimes. "Unfortunately, I don't think we'll be able to make it. Bob and I." She has put on her let-me-down-easy sorry voice.

"Really? What's happening with Bob? Why can't you guys make it to the graduation ceremony?"

Bob is my mother's eighth husband, but surprisingly, their marriage has lasted longer than any of the other men she's been with. They've been married for over four years now and it seems to be going well, from what little I've heard from her about it.

"Thing is, Bob fell over and broke his collarbone on the golf course last week. He's restricted to bed-rest for five weeks."

I shake my head, not surprised. From what I've heard, Bob is terribly clumsy. Last time I called her, he had broken his foot and two fingers. "Poor Bob," I mutter sympathetically. "First his foot and fingers, and now his collarbone?"

"I know. I keep telling him he should consider not playing sports anymore. After all, he's sixty-eight. What's next? A hip replacement?"

"It sucks that you guys can't come then, but I understand. Bob can't go on the plane and he needs you to take care of him." I won't even suggest my mother go without him to see me graduate, because I know how my mother is. She wouldn't be happy without her husband there, and she's very dependent on her husbands.

"Oh, I knew you'd understand, honey." She laughs. "You're such a sweet girl. Ray's going though, isn't he?"

I cringe at the question, which is a completely unnecessary one. Ray was Mom's Husband Number Seven, my ex-stepfather.

As it turns out, despite them getting divorced four years ago, Ray still considers me his true child, which is sort of nice when you think about it. He will definitely be attending my graduation, because he never misses anything I do. When he found out I had a dentists appointment a couple of months ago because I had posted it up on Facebook, surely enough, Ray turned up, offering me his hand to hold (even though I'm in my early twenties).

One time, when I complained on Facebook about bad PMS issues, Ray had even dropped over to Kate and mine's apartment with Tylenol, tampons, and some chocolates. He takes being my stepfather seriously, which is sweet but startling at the same time. He can be overly passionate about my endeavors in life, he's my number 1 supporter, and I wasn't even born out of his sperm.

"Um, yeah. Ray is _definitely_ coming to my graduation. I bet he's even put the reminder on his calendar and he's crossing off the days until it happens." I smile at the thought.

"So you don't mind if Bob and I can't come?" she asks uncertainly.

"No, Mom, it's fine. Just tell Bob that I hope he recovers well and to take it easy with the golfing next time."

"Okay, baby. I will. Love you."

"Yeah, love you too, Mom. Bye." She hangs up and I close my phone, shoving it back into my apron pocket with a sigh. I had a suspicion that Carla wasn't going to come. I suppose that prepared me in advance to handle the bad news when it did happen.

I wince to myself again when another dilemma occurs to me. Oh, crap. Christian is supposed to be doing a speech there at the ceremony, and Ray will be attending. Ray and Christian in the same building- not a good thing. Ray is another person I have been verbal to with my gushing of my love for Christian Grey. What if he spills the beans and tells Christian things that I've said on the day? It would be such a disaster.

* * *

The day finally arrives. The big day of graduating. It feels like I've been waiting for this day for years and, realistically, I have. Kate is frantic, because she was elected to do a speech, so I'm her test bunny while she rehearses it with me. She had even rudely awoken me at five thirty in the morning, like an Energizer bunny on crack, so that I could listen to her speech.

It sounds really good to me, but hopefully she can grasp control of her nerves once her time comes.

We're just getting changed when my phone vibrates with a message. My husband is texting me, and I can't help grinning gleefully.

 _Location: Washington State University. ;)_

He's so adorable. I wish he would just get it over with and propose to me already. I think its high time he already made love to me. We do need to have those 2.5 kids, after all. There's no harm in starting early.

I text back quickly:

 _Funny. We'll be at the same location then. Are you sure you aren't stalking me, turning up everywhere I go?_

I regret sending it, as soon as it goes through. I'm the one that's basically stalking him, aren't I? Well, I've been unhealthily obsessed with him for months, which, oddly enough, he found attractive when I admitted it to him when we were in bed together. Was that a bad thing to say? What if he realizes it isn't actually a witty joke, but something true?

Apparently I am stressing over nothing, because it barely takes him two minutes to respond:

 _Caught me, Miss Steele. Guilty as charged. Also, I feel I should advise you that I have a pair of your unwashed underwear in my pocket as a memento; something to give me strength throughout the ceremony. See you there._

My bones turn into mushy jello at that. Is it weird I find it hot that he requested pairs of my unwashed underwear as part of this contract thingy between us?

My mind flashes back to when he was over here, how we exchanged our underwear right in the kitchen. Then how he sniffed mine, right in front of me. That was so hot. Maybe he was joking about keeping it in his pocket to give him strength though? He's probably using sarcasm and my wishful thinking is making me read into his message a bit more seriously than I ought to?

When Ray arrives, Kate and I are ready to go. He's supposed to be our chaperone today- he insisted- and as I open the door, I feel a mixed rush of gratitude, love and frustration for this man and what he is wearing for the occasion.

He's wearing a suit jacket and trousers, but underneath the jacket, in bold yellow writing, it says, 'ANA STEELE, MY GRADUATING GIRL' on a black T-shirt. Ray has always been an overenthusiastic and proud parent. The shirt is embarrassing.

"How do you like my shirt?" he asks, pointing to it.

Kate gives him the two thumbs up of approval. "Loving it, Ray. So awesome. I wish my parents would do that for me!"

"Had it custom-made especially for the occasion," he informs us, proudly. "Cost me my left nut, but hey, it isn't everyday that your daughter graduates now, is it?"

I'm not even his daughter, scientifically speaking, but it is sort of nice, the gesture.

"Thank you, Ray," I say, smiling sheepishly. "It's sweet of you."

"Oh, anything for you, Kiddo." He lifts his hand, ruffling my hair, and I growl internally when he musses it up. It took me over twenty minutes to get my hair to sit neatly straight, and now he goes and ruins my effort? "Should we head off?"

Once we reach the building, Kate wanders off to where she has to be so that she can give her speech. I feel like my stomach is in knots once we push into the crowded auditorium. My husband is in here somewhere, and the idea of being in the same building as him, its exciting. I still can't tell whether he was being honest about keeping a pair of my underwear in his pocket or not, though. I bet he looks delicious in what he's wearing, anyway.

"Well, better find my seat," Ray says, and he hugs me before moving away. I think I even catch a bit of tears building in his eyes. Ray has always been so emotional- especially when it comes to me and my milestones in life. I suppose I am so lucky to have such a supportive, willingly-involved person in my life. I look around, checking out all the other parents that have made it here for the day. They don't have custom-made T-shirts especially for today and their child's graduation in mind. I should be grateful, even though he embarrasses the heck out of me.

Grinning nervously, I move towards where the students are supposed to sit, my eyes surreptitiously searching for my hubby. Disappointingly, I can't find him anywhere in the room. Is he hiding? Then again, I can't find Kate either.

I find a seat in the front row, where two girls sit in front of me. I can hear every part of their conversation as they talk excitedly. Then, freakishly, as the seats fill up, the entire auditorium falls quiet. If someone were to pass gas in here, everyone would literally hear it.

The chancellor appears from behind the stage, followed by old professors. Then next, my heart rate increasingly, I see Kate and more importantly, my husband come up onto the stage. I stare at Christian, almost on the verge of drooling. He stands out among everyone in a light grey, immaculate suit, his hair glinting in the lights.

He looks so stern and void of emotion as he buttons up his jacket. His confidence is envious because, if I were in his shoes and I had to give the commencement address, I'd be full-on shitting myself, then passing out on stage for everyone to see. Then, when he turns towards the crowd, its like my stomach has dropped out of my chest, releasing my intestines as they wiggle at my feet like worms.

 _Holy beef jerky!_ He wasn't lying about the underwear!

I recognize the pink cloth tucked into the pocket on his double-breasted jacket, and I'm about 99.9% certain its my underwear instead of a handkerchief.

"Can somebody bring me a bucket of water, because its literally boiling in here," I hear one of the girls say in front of me.

"I know, right?" The girl's friend laughs next to her. "He is _so_ hot, it's unfair. He looks like that actor!"

"Oh, my gosh! Yes! I just remembered now who he reminds us of! That Dornan guy!"

"Oh, my God, yes! Totally! So, so, so hot! Like out of here hot!"

I'm pretty sure they are talking about my husband. I stiffen, clasping my hands in my lap tightly. _Yes, he is hot, no doubt about it. But I'm the only one who is allowed to have him!_

He's mine, after all. Or well, he's going to be. He has my underwear in his pocket, too, for everyone to see. Sure, it just looks like a lousy men's pink handkerchief, but still. He's MINE!

I have to do it. I just cannot resist. I lean forward in my chair, speaking between them, "Um, you do know he's gay, right?"

"What?" Both girl's whip their heads to me in outrage and disbelief. "No way?"

"Seriously, he is. I interviewed him for the student newspaper and, yeah, he's so gay that you can tell he is simply by looking at him." It feels wrong to say it, but at the same time, you have to be competitive and fight for your man. You have to be willing to fight dirty and eliminate the competition. "I mean, look at the color of his handkerchief in his pocket. Isn't that evidence enough?"

My inner Gollum looks pleased with himself when both girls fall into a disappointed silence, digesting my information down.

"Damn, your totally right," one of them mutters sadly after a minute. "That's usually the way it goes, isn't it? It's always the good ones."

I sit back in my seat, suppressing the urge to laugh wickedly in satisfaction. _There we go! Mission complete! Competition exterminated!_

 _Way to go, Steele._

 ** _Hope this one wasn't terrible? I'm back with my crazy, weird story haha. Hope you enjoy it though :D_**


	18. Chapter 18

_**Hey guys, so sorry I took so long to update! Life has been getting in the way so I'm so sorry.**_

 _ **Hope you enjoy this one ;) Thank you so much!**_

* * *

 _ **Chapter 18**_

With at least a small part of the competition eradicated, I fall back more comfortably into my seat, staring at my dream man as the chancellor proceeds with his introductory speech. I just cannot believe he was actually telling the truth about keeping my underwear in his pocket as a memento. And what's more, it isn't _just_ in his pocket. It's in his _suit jacket pocke_ t, where literally a thousand pairs of eyes in the building can see it.

It's fortunate that its impossible for him to find me anywhere in the hall, because it means I'm free to stare. I stare at him like a crazy person, careless about how obvious I am being with it. It isn't like he'll find me over the thousands of other heads in the room anyway, is it?

While the chancellor blabbers on with his boring speech, I see Christian lower his head slightly, his eyes closing. He lifts a hand, tugging at his 'handkerchief' in his jacket pocket a little, his nose near it. Holy shit. I'm 99.9% sure he just sniffed it. He just inhaled in his handkerchief which is, in fact, my underwear. Once done, he lifts his gaze back to the chancellor, a shadow of a smile there on his lips, as if the scent of my underwear is his personal brand of crack. I cross my legs, clenching my thighs as I inhale out through my mouth deeply.

There's a reason my underwear feels extra baggy and airy today. Breathable. It's because I so happen to be wearing his underwear today- the one he exchanged with me that night. I didn't even bother washing them, either. He has my underwear in his pocket and I'm wearing his. Could we be anymore perfect for each other?

Suddenly the room bursts into applause and I quickly follow like a sheep, clapping my hands together. I have no idea what's even happening. I guess that is bound to happen when you're too focused on making creepy-love-me eyes at your husband.

Kate's suddenly taken to the stage and I feel like a terrible friend, because her speech is just background buzzing noise while I stare at Christian. There's a dull ache there near where I'm assuming my ovaries are at every single thing he does up there on that stage. I need for him to impregnate me.

When Kate concludes her speech, she introduced Christian, and he moves to the lectern while surveying the hall. Again, he looks so composed and comfortable, as if its easy as breathing to speak in public. It's very admirable. I'd totally be shitting my pants up there.

He speaks about a few charities he is passionate about- things I've read about numerous times in his articles. Then he surprises me by telling us all that its due to something personal that happened in his life, that he knew what it was like to grow up hungry. My poor, baby Christian. Was that something he went through in his childhood? Starving for food?

That's why I know he needs someone like me in his life, as his girlfriend, his wife. I'm a really good cook. I'd be so devoted to him, making sure he never goes without food ever again.

Once he's finished, I applaud loudly with all the others, suppressing the urge to scream my love for him. My inner Gollum sulks at not being able to proclaim his love for his Master.

Then the boring tedious process of being handed out our degrees begins. There are more than over five hundred to give out, I think, and since they do it alphabetically, its more than an hour and a half until I finally get my name called, which comes as a relief. I find myself needing to pee really badly. The instance my name is called by the vice chancellor and I stand, I hear Ray, all from where he sits at the back of the room.

"That's my baby!" He booms out loudly through the applause, and I feel my cheeks redden. God, he is so embarrassing sometimes. I try to play it cool, as if I'm anything but embarrassed, by forcing myself to grin at him when he stands from his chair, giving me the two thumbs up, his face red and puffy from proud, emotional tears.

Squeezing into the line, I look up at the stage and it occurs to me that I have to shake Christian's hand. Because I'm standing, the need to pee becomes more pronounced. It's almost a painful ache.

I hope I don't pee myself by the time I get up there near him. God, I hope I act normal.

I hope I don't somehow cling with my hand like I've done before. Or do something mortifying, like grabbing his hand in front of all these folks and guiding it down towards my breast through my shirt. I shake my head at the thought as the line moves forward. Of course I'm being paranoid. Of course I wouldn't do that. Or would I?

My time comes and I feel oddly enough as though we're at the alter, getting married when he extends his hand out to me. He's acting strangely... distant, like he's pretending we don't know each other.

"Miss Steele, congratulations on graduating," he says, and when I shake his hand, I am pleased to note that my fingers obey me and do not clench. Damn, it feels so good, though. His hand against mine. Skin on skin contact. I bite my lip, feeling all glowy when he goes to hand me my degree. _His_ fingers clench surprisingly, so I can't take it without hurling it out of his grasp. "How do you like my handkerchief?"

 _Ah, so is this how he wants to play it?_ "The handkerchief looks really good. For some reason, it looks familiar though."

"It looks familiar to you?" He presses his lips tightly together, suppressing a smile, his eyes dancing. "I can't imagine why."

"Of course not." I know I'm holding up the line, but I just can't resist. "You're not the only one, you know, Mr. Grey."

"I'm not the only one?" He blinks at me heavily, confused. "What?"

"I'm keeping _your_ underwear pretty toasty warm myself." There, I can be mysterious. I leave it at that, pursing my lips together to fight back my own satisfied smile while he furrows his brows. _Ha, take that, husband of mine!_

When I move away, I sense him watching me. Subtly, I move my hand, patting my backside while climbing back down the stage. Hopefully he'll get the hint then that I'm wearing his underwear. And I think he does, because when I turn my head to glance back up at him, he's peering after me, flabbergasted yet with a hint of something warm to his gray eyes, ignoring some giggly girl that's trying to engage in conversation while he hands her her degree. _Yeah, I totally have him right where I want him. It can't be long now._

Once the ceremony completely concludes, I'm relieved and sadly, on the dangerous urge of peeing myself. I look up at Christian, finding him staring at me again. He makes a gesture, motioning for me. I think he wants to talk more to me, but unfortunately, nature calls. I shake my head briskly, rushing through the crowd. There is no way in hell that I am going to degrade myself by peeing in his underwear, no matter how absorbent and baggy they may feel while wearing them.

I pass Ray on my way and get him to hold onto my degree for me while I run to the female restrooms. Once I'm done, I feel so much better with an empty bladder. I unlock the stall, washing my hands. Then I head back outside, locating Ray standing by Kate's parents, talking with them. He gestures to his shirt he made specifically for the occasion while Kate's parents nod enthusiastically.

Ray assaults me with another overenthusiastic hug once I reach him. "I'm so proud of you, Annie." He pulls back, regarding me with wet eyes. "But where's your mother?"

I'm surprised my mother never already explained it to him. Don't they talk much on the phone anymore? "Mom said she couldn't come. Something happened with Bob. I think she said he-"

"-Excuse me," a familiar voice interrupts us and as Ray and I both turn, I feel like my heart has exploded in my chest. Christian is standing there, looking between us. _What the fudge is he doing?_ Ray and Christian- not a good combination. "Are you Anastasia's father?"

I feel a surge of panic as I look at Ray. Ray looks as though he's having a conniption. His face reddens, his mouth pops open and closed a few times. Ray knows firsthand my obsession with Christian Grey. I just hope to God he doesn't mention any of that to him.

"Uh, yes. I'm Annie's stepfather. Your Christian Grey!"

"Yes, that's right." Christian's smile is ironic when they shake hands. Ray gives me a look of surprise, then he nudges me. _Oh crap. Here we go._

"Do you and, uh, my Annie know each other well? By the way you asked the question, it sounds like you do?"

 _Yes, Ray, we know each other. Just not as well as I want us to. He'll definitely be your sort-of son-in-law very shortly though._

"Actually, I'm Anastasia's boyfriend."

I'm the one to look surprised at that. Sweet Lord Jesus, great fiery balls of Satan. Did he just say what I think he said? He called himself my boyfriend? Oh, my God!

 _My boyfriend! He's my boyfriend! Since when?_

 _"_ Wow, well this is news to me," Ray exclaims with an awkward laugh. _Yeah, and its news to me, too. Not that I should be shocked, of course. Of course, he's my boyfriend._ "I never knew Annie had a boyfriend? And certainly not... Christian Grey, of all people?" Ray looks at me again in shock. "When did this happen?"

"Anastasia and I met when she came to interview me for the student newspaper," Christian says smoothly, and freaking me out, he reaches over with his arm, wrapping it around my back, crushing me into his side. Holy fuck. What is happening right now? This is like a dream. A mindgasm of epic proportions. "It's only been a couple of weeks, really."

But he told me he doesn't do the whole girlfriend-boyfriend thing? What?

"Annie, you never told me you worked on the student newspaper." Ray's voice is chastising. I know that's only because he would have framed the article I did, if he knew. "Why didn't I hear about this?"

"I never worked on it exactly," I murmur, still stunned by the fact that Christian's arm is around me. "I was just filling in for Kate. She was ill that day."

"Well, anyway. This is like a dream come true for my Annie." _Oh god, no. No, no, no. Don't say it, Ray. Don't._ I glare at him, urging him with my eyes alone to shut up. He doesn't. "Kids been crazy about you ever since she saw you on television one morning. She never shuts up about you."

 _Ah, shitballs._ My cheeks flaming, I notice Christian's head turn towards me. Way to go, Ray. Betrayed by my own father. Now Christian will run away and will never speak to me ever again.

"Ray," I grumble under my breath, a warning.

Finally, he gets it. He looks between us, then grins, sort of apologetically. "Ah, well. If you'll excuse me. I need to find the men's restrooms. I was anxious this morning. I'm sure I don't need to elaborate on what happens to the body when you're anxious..."

Great, and now he's talking about how he needs to pass a bowel movement due to his anxiety levels this morning? He's so embarrassing. Somebody kill me. Anybody.

"The restrooms are just over there, Sir," Christian says, showing him. It shocks me, how understanding Christian is being. He doesn't sound disgusted at all. Sympathetic to Ray's plights, more than anything.

Once Ray leaves us, I feel the tension leave my body, bit by bit. Then I realize Christian's arm is still around me. I glance up at him anxiously, licking my lips to get some moisture to them. All I can seem to think about, is what he said. _Boyfriend._ He addressed himself as my boyfriend. _Boyfriend!_

"Boyfriend?" I blab it out before I can stop myself.

He avoids my gaze, looking past me as he lifts his hand, raking his fingers through his hair. "What are you doing once you're finished here?"

He makes me feel weary. "That depends on why you're asking?"

Christian sighs loudly, and I gather the impression that I'm frustrating him. Why the hell for? And why won't he explain why he told Ray that he was my boyfriend? Did he mean it? Or was he just... saying that? Because I totally want him to be my boyfriend.

"Because I want to do something with you after this, Anastasia. Can I?"

It's sad that he feels it necessary to ask. Sad thing is, I would willingly do anything with him. I mean, he's my dream man. The guy I've been obsessing over. And my god, he told Ray- the closest thing I have to an understanding, supportive father- that he's my boyfriend!

"Of course, we can do something together." I sound too eager, too excited, yet I can hardly bring myself to care. "What do you have in mind?"

"How about we get something to eat, and then... if you want, you could come back to my place with me?"

Go back to his place with him? My mind processes that to mean only one thing. Sexy times. Loving. Conception. But then a few niggling doubts cross my mind. I haven't shaved my legs in quite some time. I have never shaved my bikini area before, and what if he prefers women to be fully waxed? What if I'm too bushy? It isn't like I've had a man see my privates before so it isn't like I'd know what they prefer, but still. It's sort of a jungle down there. Would he mind that?

It definitely gives new meaning to the term 'Welcome to the jungle'.

I end up fabricating a little so that he can pick me up later, seeing as he knows where I live. It also gives me good enough time to prepare for what is ahead of me. Home at the apartment, I take a long relaxing bath while shaving my legs and beneath my armpits, being careful not to miss any prickly hairs. Then I consider shaving myself _down there_ , but I've heard when it regrows its painfully itchy, so I decide to just risk it and see how he reacts.

Hey, a vag is still a vag, right? Men usually shouldn't be so picky. They get what they're given. Or so my inner Gollum murmurs in my head.

But wow. I used to fantasize about this happening, and hopefully, it will happen. How many women can say that they've been made love to by the man of their dreams, their one and only ultimate celebrity crush?

* * *

A helicopter ride was how we got to where he lived. It wasn't by anything ordinary, like a car or a bus. No, it just had to be a helicopter that landed on the tall building of where he lived. And it was amazing. The bright lights, the view of Seattle. Once he had landed on the building, we took an elevator down a floor. And then, there I was, standing inside his house.

My dream man's penthouse, of all things.

It's huge. Maybe even huger than Hugh Heffner's entire Playboy Mansion, minus the ladies in skimpy bikinis wandering around. As far as I can see when I glance around, there is no one else in sight. There's just us. No dead bodies, no Playboy Bunnies. Polished marble floors on the first level. A large piano in one corner of the room (I remember him telling me how he plays it). Oddly, the walls are bare. I can see old picture hooks there, but its as though he's removed and taken down all previous photos he had decorating his living area.

"Can I get you something to drink?" he asks me as I hang around near his piano; my fingers itching to tap at the keys. "I feel like something alcoholic. Would you care to join me?"

"Sure, that sounds good," I agree, glancing out the window at the incredible view. He disappears to get us a drink- I see it through the reflection of the room in the window.

Besides, an alcoholic drink sounds extremely good. It would ease my nerves.

I'm standing in the enormous room, staring at one of the bare hooks on the wall, wondering what he's done with his paintings when Christian suddenly springs up behind me like a stealthy murderer in a horror film. I gasp, then laugh weakly when he holds out a glass of what looks like red wine to me.

"I hope you don't mind red wine."

"Red wines great," I say, then I slurp a mouthful in eagerly.

"I also slipped in a roofie. Hope you don't mind."

 _A roofie? What the- ? I_ realize I'm too eager to swallow. It goes down the wrong way, and I make a choking noise as I stare up at him in shock. Is he being serious? A roofie? Like a date rape drug?

"A roofie?" I manage through a coughing fit, arching my brows. "How very serial killer of you." I sound so calm. But hey, he can murder me any day of the week and I know I would die happily.

"Oh, no. I have no intentions of being a serial killer. _Tonight_." His face is completely deadpan. I cannot even tell if he's joking or not. "Tomorrow, perhaps."

 _Oookay... Why do I find him joking about this type of thing incredibly hot?_

But then he smiles, though it seems forced. "It was a poor joke, Anastasia. I didn't really put a roofie in your drink."

I'm both glad and slightly disheartened to hear he hasn't. "What's with all the hooks in your walls?" I bring myself to ask curiously, peering back at all the blank walls. "Where are all your pictures? Or are you... renovating or something?"

Something strange flickers across his face at my question. He looks away from me, suddenly preoccupied on his drink. He presses his lips over the glass, swallowing down a few mouthfuls. Damn, I want to be that glass. I want to be those mouthfuls of wine.

"Redecorating," he finally explains, still avoiding my eyes. "I'm redecorating at the moment, Anastasia. It's why the walls appear so... bare. I decided that the other pictures were... _inappropriate_ for visitors." He meets my gaze, smiling tight-lipped in a way that seems secretive, as if he knows something that I don't.

"Oh? And what made you think they were inappropriate for visitors? Were they nude pictures?" That seems the only reasonable enough explanation as to why he would remove all the pictures he previously had.

"Nude pictures?" He seems surprised by my question, like he hadn't been hoping for me to ask him to elaborate on that. He pauses for a moment, tracing two fingers along his bottom lip, as though he's thinking of the right way to explain it. "Pornographic? You could say that."

"Well, regardless of your walls being bare, your house lovely." I take in another sip of the red wine as I wander around the room into his large kitchen. "It's very big and spacious for one person. Don't you get creeped out sometimes, living alone in a house so huge?"

"You get used to it. And besides, I can handle myself quite well."

He follows a pace behind me as I inspect the modern dining room arrangement. But then something catches my eye. Something on the table, something familiar.

Something that recently went missing from my apartment. My stomach clenches, my heart racing at the realization.

Holy crap. Is that my favorite shade of red lipstick? The one I've been looking for for days now? Had Christian stolen my lipstick? Why? Why would he do that?

But it doesn't end there. My missing lipstick isn't the only thing I see.

Rounding the corner towards his large stainless steel double-door refrigerator, I see something else that vaguely looks like one of my elastic hairbands that I use on the dining room table. I haven't noticed any that have gone missing- I have so many of them to spare, truth be told- but... now it all suddenly seems clear. Next to it, is a fuzzy little nest what appears to be dark brown hair. Strands of hair that had naturally fallen off, catching on the teeth of a hairbrush. _My_ hair?

Gulping down another needed mouthful of wine, I turn to look at Christian cautiously. "Um, why... why do you have my lipstick in your house?" It's the only thing I can seem to manage asking. "I thought I'd lost it, but its... here? Have you... had it all this time?" What would he even do with my lipstick anyway? And the hair. What does he do with the strands of my hair? Something kinky-freaky?

He won't completely meet my eyes. He shrugs and runs a hand through his hair, seeming a little embarrassed. And wary, like he's nervous of how I'll react. Personally, I realize I find it so exciting. Sort of... romantic and sweet, too. Had he stolen my favorite lipstick when he broke into my apartment that time?

I could have sworn it had been him; Christian, breaking into my room, messing around with my Rabbit vibrator and leaving behind a glove as evidence, one that he had worn when showing up while I was jogging that time.

While I mightn't be completely right, I suspect Christian has been gathering a collection. Just like I have, with my collection of magazine articles about him. I suppose that's another thing that makes us perfect for each other.

We're both collectors.

 **Hope this one wasn't terrible or too weird. :) I know its probably creepy, but hopefully its creepy in a humorous way. Thank you so much for being so lovely. Still liking? Hating? I would love to know your thoughts as always. To reviewer, sorry if its drawn-out and boring. I know Ana may seem like a nutjob the way I've written her, but that's the point. Ana is obsessed and possessive over Christian and he's the same way with her as well. He's finally found someone who doesn't mind his controlling, obsessive tendencies and Ana's the same. Sorry, they won't hurt each other or anything like that. They're just... passionate about each other lol.**


	19. Chapter 19

**Thank you so much for being so sweet! Hope you enjoy! Craziness abounds ;)**

 **Chapter 19**

 **CPOV:**

I've got her. I've finally gotten her here. In my penthouse. Anastasia Steele.

I sound like such a girl, like such a pussy-whipped fuck, but truth is, I've been waiting for this moment. Ever since I first met her, I think. She's inside my penthouse, where I live, staring at the picture hooks on the walls, probably wondering where all the photos are while I make us both a drink, and this is pretty fucking dangerous.

It was lucky I had time to prepare earlier before she arrived. I could only just imagine what noises she would make if I hadn't prepared in time enough; If I hadn't taken all the canvases off the walls that I brought from douche-bag Jose Rodriguez of her. They're stashed in my playroom, while some of my Anabilia is stashed beneath my bed. At least _I think_ its all stashed safely beneath my bed. Truth be told, removing all the canvases of her and taking them upstairs to hide them were time-consuming.

But now, _here_ she is. Dressed in tight jeans that show off every delicious curve of that derriere of hers, a ruffled blue shirt, with a leather jacket thrown on top. I cannot wait to see what color underwear she's wearing right now.

Carrying both our drinks back into the living room, I see that she's still staring at one of the empty walls, her back turned to me. The danger of having her here in my penthouse, particularly with all the pieces of her I've collected- some illegally while breaking into her apartment through her bedroom window- it's addictive, thrilling. This could go badly wrong in so many ways if she ever were to find out. She'd call the police. Worst case scenario, she'd call me a sick fuck stalker and then she'd put a restraining order out on me.

And yet, a part of me still feels excited by that possibility.

She could easily throw the drink I made for her in my face then run for the hills. _Or not_. I locked the front door the instance I got her inside. For _her safety_ , of course.

Staring at the back of her head while I sneak up on her from behind, she smells so heavenly, even better than how her underwear smells. Then, stupid me, when she accepts the drink, I start rambling on, saying silly shit about slipping roofies into her drink and how I'm not a serial killer tonight. I'm nervous and I sound ridiculous, but oddly enough, Anastasia just laughs and goes along with it; a bright spark to her clear blue eyes, like she gets my sense of humor completely.

She understands me, I realize. No matter what stupid psychopathic-sounding shit I say, she actually genuinely seems to find it funny. She has a way of not making me feel embarrassed when I make up some lie about my pictures being inappropriate, and she plays along when I pretend the pictures are pornographic. She doesn't suspect a thing, I can tell.

And then it all turns to shit when she heads into my kitchen. I follow closely behind her, and when she walks, I can smell her, the scent of her drifting through the air. I wish I could bottle her natural scent and spray it on my bed-sheets. Then I'd cannonball into those bed-sheets and stay on them for days and days, living like a hermit, until I started smelling like her, too. How the fuck is it possible that a woman can smell so good?

I swallow when she turns back to look at me, a peculiar look there on her face. Her eyes are wide and she sinks her front teeth into that delectable bottom lip of hers.

Then I see what's on the table and I learn I've fucked up, big time. Shit, I had completely forgotten about the hairband I'd stolen when I'd slept over at her house that night because she was scared and needed protecting from her intruder- her intruder which was actually me, though she didn't even know it. I'd found the hairband on the floor, discarded and abandoned. It wasn't like she actually still used it or needed it, anyway. _The lipstick, however..._

It was not supposed to happen this way. And if I hadn't been too busy carting her canvases upstairs, all twenty of them, then I would have remembered about the Anabilia evidence I'd left in the kitchen.

But I'm only human, and all humans make mistakes, they have slip-ups... But how much is this slip-up going to cost me?

"Um, why... why do you have my lipstick in your house?" She turns to look at me again, and I hate the look in her eyes. She looks at me like I'm some sicko, some... serial killer in a horror movie, about to strangle her. Or maybe that's all just inside my head? Paranoia? "I thought I'd lost it, but its... here? Have you... had it all this time?" Her voice changes. It isn't what I was expecting. She doesn't sound judgmental, or horrified at all. If anything, Anastasia sounds both a little excited and amused.

What? Shouldn't she be running for the hills already?

But have I had her lipstick in my house all this time? No, I haven't. Just for a couple of days, almost a full week. I couldn't resist taking it at the time. To have something her lips have touched, something she uses... I needed something like that as a memento for my Anabilia.

She doesn't even begin to mention the hair I collected off her hairbrush, and yet its all there, for her to see plainly, clear as day. The strands of shed hair that I had plucked off the teeth of her hairbrush- another thing I just couldn't resist doing at the time. Lately this week I'd taken that hair to work, rolling it into a ball between my palms while waiting for my scheduled meetings to begin, rubbing my fingertips into the soft sleekness of it, imagining it was Anastasia's actual head that I was truly touching. If it wasn't a pair of her underwear, it was her hair this week.

How she's made me feel terrifies me at times. I don't know how to explain it, and I would talk to my therapist, if only I knew for sure Flynn wouldn't judge me and consider me certifiably nuts.

I think about Anastasia all the time, and I've never done that with anyone else before. It's like she is always in my head, like she's the first thing I think about when I wake up in the morning. Then she's the last thing I think about before I sleep. It's like my head now is filled with Anastasia, Anastasia, Anastasia.

My hands are constantly tingling with the need to touch that little ball of hair of hers. I used to feel the strongest compulsion and need to sniff her panties, but now... now I think I've grown out of sniffing her panties the littlest bit. Now, it's her hair that I just can't get enough of.

I don't know what she's done to me, but... its something I've never felt for anyone before. I've always been obsessive over things- throwing myself into learning how to play the piano as a child, running my own successful business- things I feel utterly passionate and consumed by in what I'm doing. When I do something, I throw myself into it a hundred and ten percent. It becomes more than a hobby, more like a fixation, something I need to do everyday.

But now I've found myself obsessed over something entirely different. Something animate, something real life and breathing. Something I have no control over; I can control how I stroke the keys on a piano, making it work with me to play the exact melodies and tunes that I want it to play. I have complete power over my business, as the top man, CEO. I decide who is hired, and what to do about our competitors.

Only, this is different. I can't control this thing, not when it has a unique mind of its own and it reacts to things.

I'm passionate, obsessed, consumed, by a woman. _Her_.

If I had my way, she'd never be able to leave my penthouse. I'd see her everyday, spending every moment with her until her thoughts become mine, until we become one entity.

But once she finds out, though her reactions have mostly been positive so far- over the lipstick I stole, and the hair, and the underwear which I sniffed in front of her, _thank fuck_ she found it hot- who knows what she'll think once she sees the full extent of my Anabilia? All the canvases I purchased from Douche-bag Rodriguez, because I loathe the thought of some other sick fuck hanging her pictures all over their walls?

A part of me knows she'll see me differently, that she'll run for the hills. And maybe I'd deserve that, if she did? I've always believed I'm a pretty shady individual- my therapist even stressing that point on how fucked-up I am. The abusive childhood that's given me a life of problems in my grown up world. Antisocial tendencies, the pleasure and safety I feel in control. The addictive personality, where I get obsessed with one thing for a while, then quickly, I latch onto another thing.

Piano. My business. Exercising. Jelly donuts covered in chocolate sprinkles (Had to give those up early, otherwise they'd start to go straight to my ass, which defeats the purpose of religious exercise). Anastasia Steele.

For that reason alone, she just cannot know. Plus, my Anabilia isn't quite ready for her eyes yet. I need... _more_. So much, _much_ more.

 ** _APOV:_**

I stare at his collection on his modern dining room table again, and I feel my heart start racing in my chest.

It's the most romantic thing I think someone has ever done. He went to so much trouble, breaking into my bedroom, touching my vibrator and stealing my lipstick. Opening my bedroom window isn't easy, and it requires serious hard work and muscle. Believe me, I'd know.

I know I probably should be freaking out. I'm not reacting the way a sane, normal person probably would. But I just find it so... arousing, in a sense. All the effort he went to. That lipstick is my favorite and I've missed it since he stole it, and it cost me thirty dollars because it was expensive, designer lipstick that I splurged on one time. Surprisingly, I cant even bring myself to feel betrayed or upset that he stole my favorite lipstick.

I just... want him. Now that I'm actually here, in his penthouse, I want him. I want my dreams to become a true reality. The fact that he has some of my stuff on his dining room table, it just makes me want him even more. But more intensely.

"Does this mean that you're going to make love to me tonight, Christian?" My voice sounds husky and deep, and _whoa,_ I don't even know why I blabbed that out. Or maybe it wasn't senseless blabbing? Maybe I did it on purpose? After all, sometimes a girls got to be direct to her man in order to get what she wants.

"Make love?" When I turn back to look at him, he has his mouth slightly open. But he recovers quickly, closing his mouth back up again. "If you want to leave, Anastasia, I wouldn't blame you."

 _Leave? What?_

"Why would I want to leave, Christian?" No, I don't want to leave. I want to make love. The Alex Forrest within me wants to leap onto him, digging her nails into his shirt possessively while she wails triumphantly, _You can never leave me, because I'll find you!_

"Because of what's on the table. If you want to leave, I'll understand. The helicopters on standby. You also still have your phone in your bag, don't you?"

It's like a mindscrew. _What is he going on about?_ "My phone?" I shake my head at him, uncomprehending.

"You can call the police if you want to. I won't stop you."

"Just take me up to your damn room, Christian." Wow, I sound so eager, so desperate. But that's only because _I am_. And wouldn't anyone else in my situation be overeager too? I've waited for over eight very long months.

My clothes are literally screaming at me to tear them off, my skin crying out for some skin-rubbing contact with his skin. Even my ovaries feel sore and tender at what's to come. Well, at least, I'm assuming its my ovaries, anyway. Do ovaries even have personal feelings?

He puts his glass of wine down onto the table, then he takes mine, putting it on the table as well.

"Come." He holds his hand out to me, and without hesitation, of course I take it. I slide my hand through his, and he leads the way, and I feel like I'm screaming internally.

 _Holy shit! Oh, my God! We're doing this! We're really doing this! Yes!_

"What do you enjoy typically?" he asks me as we head up the stairs to where I'm assuming his bedroom is.

 _But what do I enjoy typically? Huh?_

"I mean, as far as sex goes, Anastasia. Do you have any preferences?"

I feel myself blush at his words. Many times, I have fantasized about Christian talking about sex with me, in that compelling, delicious voice of his. And preferences? I haven't even had sex before, but my main preferences include switching my vibrator on high while staring up at his poster. Touching myself and pretending its him touching me. Is that the sort of thing he meant by preferences?

"Well, I've never had sex before, so I'm not too sure what my preferences are, Christian."

"What?" He stops still at my words and when I glance up at him, his mouth is agape. He looks pale- really, really pale. Is he going into shock or something? A part of me wishes wickedly that he would go into shock. My inner Gollum wants to nurse him in bed. "What do you mean, you've never had sex before?" He sounds so scandalized, like its impossible to believe.

"It's true. I've never."

"Never? Not even... once?"

"Yeah, not even once."

He lets go of my hand to lean against the stair railing. He lifts a hand, running it through his hair. What the hell is happening right now? His reaction, it's so confusing. Why does he find this to be such a big deal? Why? Obviously _he's_ had sex before, which _of course_ he has, because _look a_ t him. He's walking-talking perfection. My mind drifts off, fretting about how many women he's been with. _Oh, God. Please don't let him be a man whore._

If he's been with over thirty women, I'm not too sure how I'd react. I know that shouldn't matter, because all those other women he has been with, they are his past, while I'm his present. We're going to be together for a very, very long time and have babies. Why should the women from his past matter? Still, I can't help stressing...

"Have you _even_ been kissed before?"

"Of course I have," I mutter defensively, bewildered by his reaction. "Um, _you've_ kissed me. Remember?"

"I know that, but..." He shrugs as if that doesn't matter. He looks as though someone has swatted him over the head with a frying pan. "I just don't understand. You're twenty-two, and no guy has ever managed to sweep you off your feet?" He shakes his head, as if he's at a loss.

He mustn't understand how I feel. "That's probably because I haven't been interested in anyone."

Really, what I _should_ say is that I haven't been interested in anyone but _him_. That sounds too freaky and I don't want to scare him off, though.

But for eight whole months, even looking at another guy, I found them sadly lacking compared to Christian Grey; him, who I watch YouTube interview videos of on a regular basis and collect any articles I can find. Plus, I think the poster on my bedroom ceiling above my bed speaks for itself.

"How have you avoided sex for this long? Men must literally throw themselves at you." He says it as though I'm some goddess, as though I have a neon blinking sign on my forehead that says _'Deflower me please! I am a desperate twenty-two year old virgin in need of plowing.'_

"No one's really... came up to scratch." They aren't you. As it turns out, my lady parts are apathetic to anyone else but you. "And sometimes, I feel its better to wait until the right person comes along. I know a lot of people my age are having sex, but... I was waiting for the right person." _You_. You're my right person, Christian. Now kindly take me to your bed please or else I'll die. Thank you.

 _God, if he knew that I'd been saving myself for him like some obsessive crazy girl, he'd probably never want anything else to do with me._

He takes my hand, then starts walking up the stairs again. Yay, does that mean he's still going to do this?

He leads me down a hallway, into what is obviously his bedroom. Muted light spills out from a lamp on his bedside table, making the room atmospheric and romantic. His bedroom is huge. He has no curtains, which shows outside his ceiling-to-floor length window how beautiful Seattle looks of a nighttime. His bed is huger than mine, probably a king-sized bed.

I notice that those empty hooks are there on the walls again, even in his bedroom. Wow, he really did take down most of his pictures. I wonder if he was being truthful about the pictures being pornographic?

I glance at his bed again, biting my lip. My knees shake. I cannot wait to dive on it. Jump on it, even. Stretch out, naked, my entire body screaming _Come closer, Christian. Climb on top of me._

I don't even realize until a second later, but Christian has let go of my hand. I glance at him again, and notice him removing his watch. He places it on the bedside table, then takes off his jacket, draping it around a single armchair near the window. Holy cheeseballs, I cannot wait to see this man naked.

There's an ottoman near the armchair, white-leather, and he starts kicking it closer to where I'm standing though why, I'm not too sure.

He outstretches his hand towards me. "Stand," he says, in a breathless way, and I finally get it then. _Oh, okay. He wants me to stand on the ottoman? What for? Pft, like I even care or need a reason why!_

I take his hand again, kicking off my ballet flats, and he supports me with a hand on my hip as I step up carefully. Higher up on the ottoman, his head comes up to almost my shoulders. I feel so much taller than him standing on it, as though I'm on top of the world. I glance down at him as he releases my hand.

It's really lucky I have pretty decent balance otherwise I'd be falling straight on my ass. I thank God inwardly that I didn't choose to wear socks tonight, otherwise standing on the white-leather would have made it slippery. I sweat a lot on my feet and Kate always complains how smelly my feet can get, so good choice for me. I've avoided the disaster of my dream-man noticing how smelly my feet can get, and my feet naturally grip to the fabric, keeping me upright.

He steps back a few paces to look at me, standing there, on his ottoman. He's lucky I'd practically do anything he asks of me, because I don't know what the heck is going on right now or his reasons for having me stand on the ottoman.

I watch him as he rakes his eyes slowly down the entire length of my body. He's wearing tight blue jeans and a white dress shirt. He's so sexy, even better in real life than in any photo-shoots that I have in my folder collection. Who would have thought I'd be here now, getting the chance for him to make love to me? Oh well, I did. I knew this would happen. I knew, instance we met, that we were made for each other. And now, now we'll be together forever. Well, we _better be_ , anyway.

While he scrutinizes me, he reaches down, yanking his shirttail out from where its tucked inside his jeans. The light is pretty dim from the lamp, but I'm pretty sure he's undressing me. He's undressing me mentally with his eyes. He's eye-screwing me. I cannot wait for his eye-screwing to turn into actual real screwing.

He bends down, and starts untying his shoelaces, but his eyes don't leave me. They stare at me, undressing me still, his breathing growing heavy. Or maybe that's my breathing that's making all the noise? I sound like an overheated dog, panting for water. I arch on my toes eagerly as he takes off his socks, slowly, individually, then he tucks them into his shoes. His feet are so gorgeous. I never thought I'd be a foot person- I cannot understand why people have feet fetishes- but I think if I were to have a feet fetish, it would be Christian Grey's feet that I have a fetish for.

Standing, he kicks his shoes to the side then steps towards me. I feel my entire body start quivering from head to toe as he circles around me, like a shark in a tank full of water. I'm his prey, his meal. And him eating me alive, God, that would be a welcome death.

Tired of being fully dressed, I peel off my jacket, tossing it on the floor as he moves behind me. I have no idea what he's doing but oddly enough, the fact I don't, it makes it all the more exciting.

Then I feel him. I _really feel_ him.

One of his hands come behind me, and he moves my hair away from the side of my face, tucking it behind my ear. I hear him inhaling, as if he's breathing me in, The Thin Man Hair-Sniffer from Charlie's Angels all over again. _It's so... hot!_

"Do you have any idea what I'm going to do to you?" he whispers from somewhere behind me, and its like a dark threat. "I want you so badly, Anastasia. I've been wanting you ever since you bit my lip that day."

 _He wants me? Inward fist pumps! Yes!_

"Ever since I got that first sniff of your underwear, your... scent, I've wanted you even more."

I feel him lift the back of my shirt up, the air making little goose-bumps erupt on my skin. Then I feel his nose. He skims his nose up around my lower back, breathing me in like he's a cannibal and I'm something edible. It's the most erotic thing I've ever had happen to me in my entire life, and I feel my muscles clench.

Then I feel his hands, both of them, curl around my ankles. He moves them, bringing them up along the outline of my legs through my jeans, then up, over my stomach through my shirt, touching me everywhere. When he moves in front of me, I realize he's kneeling. He's actually kneeling on the floor at where I stand on the ottoman, as if he's worshiping me, bowing to me.

He brings his hands up again, moving them up my legs through the fabric again, up my shirt, and his head, he nuzzles his head into my stomach as he stands slightly, his breathing heavy, disjointed. Moving my hands, I bring them up to touch his face and his hair.

His hair is so soft, so thick. _You're mine_ , I think to myself as finally he lifts his head and, with a groan, he pushes his lips into mine.

My hands still in his hair, I tilt my head, meeting his lips fast and urgent rhythm, bending down awkwardly since I'm so high up the way I am. I'll probably have a sore neck and whiplash tomorrow, but that doesn't matter. All that matters, is how good his hair feels as I weave thick lush strands of it through my fingers, how perfect his lips feel on mine.

Suddenly, he grabs my hips in a strong grip and, instinctively, I step off the ottoman, wrapping my legs around him, my ankles digging into his backside gloriously while I curl my arms around his neck, opening my mouth to him. He brings one hand up, stroking my cheek with his thumb as our kissing resumes. It's hot and wet, his tongue lashing against mine sensually. He supports my weight easily on him and he moves backwards slowly, presumably to his humongous bed.

 _Mine, mine, mine._ I feel like a bird from Finding Nemo as I move my hands, desperate, needy, to touch all of him. Stupid clothes are in the way, but I can feel the warmth of his skin through them well enough. I grasp his arms, feeling his bicep muscles straining beneath them as he holds me to him. _Mine, mine, mine_.

Without warning, I feel myself falling as he loosens his grip, but fortunately, his bed softens the blow. My legs are still hooked around him possessively, so I fall awkwardly at the edge of the bed, and he does too, half of his lower body pushing into me. Christian hums low in his throat as he reaches behind me, unhooking my legs with his hands, but it only causes me to greedily latch on, squeezing his buttocks with my ankles, refusing to let go. I feel a strange surge of glee when he grunts again, trying to pull my legs off so he can move. He can't escape me. _I'm holding on tight, and I'm never letting him go._

Sensing his defeat, he moves his hands away, then I feel them tug and lift at my shirt. Disconnecting our mouths, I let him pull my shirt off and he tosses it to the floor as his hands move towards the front of his shirt and the buttons. Everything seems as though its going at full-speed as I watch him urgently unbutton his shirt, my breathing loud and ragged. It feels like someone's pressed a Fast-Forward button on a remote, and neither of us can get our clothes off fast enough.

Finally managing to get all the buttons undone, Christian tears his shirt off, tossing it at the floor. Then his hands move below me and I willingly release my hold around him with my legs a little, just enough for him to undo the button on my jeans. I lay back as he hooks his fingers around the waistband, and he yanks them down, shoving them off my legs and onto the floor. Then it seems someone has pressed the button to make the speed on the remote slow a little as he stops to look at me, licking his lips.

He caresses me with both hands up my legs, my thighs, and a weird gasping noise escapes from me. Thank God I shaved, despite finding it a nuisance. I can't imagine how weird it would be if he felt prickly hairs.

And then he tears my panties off, and I have to clench my eyes shut, sort of in embarrassment. I hadn't shaved _there_ and its like a jungle. Will it bother him?

"You smell so good, I cannot get over it," he murmurs and when I open my eyes, I see he has my panties bunched up in both hands, the fabric held beneath his nose. He inhales deeply, his eyes never breaking contact with mine, something deep and appreciative shining in them. "It's like a drug to me, Anastasia. Like... cocaine."

I love how enamored he is with the natural odor of me. I love how he constantly sniffs my underwear. It's the hottest thing in the world.

My inner Gollum croons _Oh, my precious_ in excitement.

"You're very beautiful, Anastasia," he says, speaking through my panties. "I wish I could lock you up in here and keep you forever." He cringes a little at that as he drops my underwear, his face reddening slightly. Why is he embarrassed though? I think it's the most romantic thing someone has ever said to me. I wish I could lock myself up in a room with him, too.

"So why don't you?" It comes out of my mouth senselessly, a challenge, my voice husky and strange with sheer need. "Keep me here forever then."

"You don't know what the fuck you're saying. I wish I knew why you make me feel the way I do."

"And how do I make you feel?"

"You make me... feel things that I've never felt for a woman before. Things that I can't even tell are good or bad. Things that... concern me. My way of... thinking when it comes to you. Up until I met you, I've never had an actual reason to contemplate on my sanity before."

His words, how frustrated he feels, how his eyes and forehead crease. He's so seductive. Romantic.

"What sort of things do you think about?" I ask eagerly, my heart racing.

"Well, if I didn't have to work, I'd probably be... lying in bed all day, being lazy, sniffing your underwear, breathing every single part of you in." I see him close his eyes at the thought, a look of pure pleasure coming across his face. When he slowly reopens his eyes again, his reluctance and embarrassment is almost palpable. But its so hot, what he's telling me. The fantasies I frequently have of him talking dirty to me pale compared to this. "You have your phone on you," he reminds me. "If at any second, you feel like calling the police, then I wouldn't-"

"- Christian, I'm not going to be calling the police. Ever." And it's true, I wouldn't. Because what he is telling me, its like a dream come true. "And if you could look inside me, like... really inside me and were able to read my thoughts, you'd see we're just the same and that you have nothing to worry about."

He sighs loudly through his nose, his eyes intense, searching. It's like he's doubting me.

"If you knew what I really thought about you, Christian, how I... I really think, _you'd_ probably be the one calling the police in the end. When I said I was like the character in Fatal Attraction, I... meant it. When it comes to you, I... I meant it." Now _I'm_ the one to stare up at him nervously, my insides curling. "I can totally see myself becoming like her over... you." I give him a tentative smile, waiting for him to be turned off, to push me away. Only he does something that completely takes me off guard.

As if my words have turned him on, he rests both hands near my head on the mattress, bending down, his lips finding mine again. This time, his lips are more passionate, more... needy.

It's funny how you meet someone that seems to get you so perfectly. Now I know for definite that I will never let him go.


	20. Chapter 20

Sorry for taking long to update. I've been incredibly busy working, but I hope you enjoy this one. Be warned, its crazy and creepy as usual haha.

 **Chapter 20**

This is so surreal.

I've fantasized about this for months, and now, here we are. I'm stripped of my panties on his bed, bare to him, while he hovers above me, shirtless, kissing me. He holds both of my wrists at my sides as he moves his mouth against mine, hot, passionate, desperate.

It's so warm and delicious with him on top of me, bearing me down on the mattress, his legs between mine. Admittedly, it's a little awkward too, with me being the only one naked down there. My lady parts keep sliding against his jeans, creating a funny free friction . I part my legs, lifting them up around him, squeezing with my knees into his side, holding him to me.

I'm like a barnacle, holding on tight, wrapping my tentacles around him.

If he wasn't holding onto each of my wrists, my arms and hands would be around him and I'd be an octopus, squeezing him tight with love, with tenderness.

I lick my lips when he breaks our kiss, and he leans back to look at me where I lay, on the mattress, my hair strewn out around me. I really want to touch him, only he won't let me. I run my eyes down his toned chest, his abdominal muscles. Finally, he releases my wrists again and tries to sit up and stand off the bed, my knees instinctively clenching around him again.

Even my body just wants to hold onto him for dear life.

Sadly, my knees aren't strong enough. He slips through, standing above me on the bed, peering down at me. I lick my lips again as I meet his gaze, twisting my thighs a little to cover myself intimately down there. He doesn't seem to mind that I haven't shaved the lady garden then. Jungles mustn't faze him at all.

I watch, glued to him, as Christian's hands go in front of his jeans. He plucks the button undone, and as he goes to step out of them, an uncontrollable noise escapes me. It sounds like a mixture between a whimper and a grunt. Desire curls within me as Christian smiles faintly at the noise, his breathing unsteady.

I'm the seagulls from Finding Nemo again. _Mine, mine, mine._

"Are you taking anything, Anastasia?" he asks me, his voice hoarse.

My brows crease in confusion. _Um, am I taking anything? Like meds? Crazy pills?_

"Contraception?" he explains impatiently.

 _Oh. Oops._

"Yes," I answer without thinking. It's actually a lie. I've never taken any contraceptive pills before. I've never had any need to, seeing as I'm not exactly a sexually active girl- apart from in my head, where my fantasies are extremely sexually active, all revolving around Christian. My periods aren't that bad either, so taking the pill hasn't been needed. The cramps are tolerable and I only break out on my chin now and again during those hormonal months the days before Aunt Flow comes to the jungle party. But that's it.

Plus, I want to have his children. I want to have his babies. So what if I lie about that because I hope to give birth to children with his all-too-perfect DNA? I want him to impregnate me.

His expression softens with relief. "Then I'm glad. I hate condoms."

"Me, too," I whisper foolishly, my brain turning into scrambled mush. "I mean, not that I wear condoms because, um... I don't have a penis," I mutter stupidly. _God, what is with my mouth? I don't have a penis? Well, duh!_

I am basically quivering with anticipation for the moment he's inside me.I shut my eyes for a moment, breathing deeply through my nose, hoping to calm myself down. Yet when I open my eyes, he's still standing there, in his boxers, watching me. Huh?

"Show me," he whispers eagerly.

"What?"

"Show me how you touch yourself. I want to watch you."

I flush, licking my lips again. Should I tell him that I often pleasure myself while looking up into his eyes on his poster that's on my ceiling? Will that creep him out?

"Don't get shy on me now, Ana. I _know_ you touch yourself. I've seen your purple Rabbit vibrator, remember?"

A nervous laugh gets stuck in my throat at his words. "That's right," I whisper, my voice hoarse, husky. "You broke into my apartment and went through my drawer. You found my vibrator hidden in my undies drawer."

"That's right," he breathes out, and his face goes darker with appreciation at the memory. "I broke into your bedroom and saw your vibrator that day." Something comes across his face. Something similar to incredulity. His brows furrow, his forehead crumples. "You knew?"

"Knew what?"

"You knew all along that I was one that broke into your apartment?"

 _Oh, crappity crap._ I nod once, sort of shyly, my mouth going dry as sandpaper.

"Well, well, well. You're a good, convincing little actress, aren't you, Anastasia?" But fortunately he doesn't look angry that I lied and got myself worked up into a horrible state so I could trick him into staying over the night, making him feel like my hero. If anything, he seems amused. His eyes are lit up with wicked thoughts. "You've got me wrapped around your finger then, haven't you, you little manipulator?"

 _I've got him wrapped around my finger? Oh, Christian, I wish! A girl can dream!_

"So... back to the present matter at hand. Do you use it often?"

I swallow dryly as I watch his hand. Eyes on me, mouth parted, he slips his hand down the front of his boxer shorts, touching himself. My eyes widen as I watch the front of his boxers, the lump from his hand as he starts stroking himself. _Holy cheeseballs._

He's pleasuring himself, too! He's touching himself because of it!

 _Okay. Two can play at this._

"I use it every night, pretty much," I say, and bravely, I open my legs. I move one of my hands, resting it on my bare stomach. His face slackens as he swallows loudly, his eyes widening at the spot between my legs. He's like putty, weak at the sight.

"And when you do, what do you think about?"

"What do you think I think about?" I guide my hand slowly down between my legs, finding myself. Using my forefinger, I stroke out and in, then use my other fingers, rubbing hard, pretending its his fingers. Christian makes a grunting noise as I flicker my eyes up to his face again, concentrating. I imagine he is the poster on my ceiling.

"Me?" he guesses, in a strained, deep voice. I glance down at what his hand is doing inside his boxer shorts again, the way he moves, the way he fondles rapidly. _It's so hot. I wish my fingers were doing that to him._ "You have a poster of me on your bedroom ceiling, Anastasia?"

I smile at his words as the feeling grows, slowly, gradually. I feel my nipples harden beneath the cups of my bra, saluting him. My fingers are no vibrating Rabbit, but they seem to be doing well enough for me right now. Partly because Christian, my dream man, stands before me, pleasuring himself as well. His face and the way he watches me, avidly, intensely, like he's captivated by me certainly helps.

"Mainly it's your poster I look at." I thought I would feel embarrassed to admit that, but I don't right now. There's no shame at all. There's just my breathing quickening, and his, and this pleasurable feeling growing, a sheen of sweat covering my armpits.

"Would you think about me?" he whispers, his hand going faster and faster in his pants. His breathing becomes so quick, so rapid, its like he's running a marathon at full speed.

"Yes," I confess, my body beginning to tingle, to sing. I know I'm almost there. I'm closely there. "I would... think of you being on top of me, touching me," I pant, and then I have to toss my head back, my mouth opening as a blissful gasp tears from me. The feeling... it's growing more and more... pleasure... heaven. "Making love to me. Or sometimes I would be cleaning and slaving away, making dinner for you. And our -"

The image of little Ana's and Christian's running around the house pushes me over the edge. It hits me, that wave of an orgasm, and I bite my bottom lip, stifling down my cry as it sweeps me away gloriously. I'm still breathing raggedly, coming down from my relaxed contentedness as I open my eyes, peering back up at him.

He stares at me, still going himself, his hand moving in front of his boxers. Once he gets there at last himself, Christian arches back, puffing out his chest, tilting his head slightly. His mouth opens as he groans, his breathing harsh. Just like that, I realize I don't need any silly poster of him anymore. I've got him right where I want him, right where he belongs- there, in front of me, climaxing himself.

 _Mine, mine, mine. My precious._

I cannot wait to see what his you-know-what looks like. What? I admit that I am guilty of Google searching images of Christian's penis. I was curious, sue me. And now, lucky me, I get to see it for real, first hand. And barely a second later, I get my wish.

Christian at last yanks down his boxers, stepping out of them. Another noise escapes me at his erection as it stands waving at me, poised and ready for me. But sadly, my wish for us to have children is clearly going to have to be put on pause for a while. Regardless of my lie, he steps over to his bedside drawer, pulling out a foil packet.

The lustful mother in me mourns as he rips the packet open with his teeth, and he slides the latex condom over his Little Christian (Little Christian not a metaphor for his size, of course, because he is rather large). For a moment there, I wonder how he'll fit. But then my lady parts are surely very accommodating.

The Gollum in me is crying out, _Master, Master_ , when Christian gets on the bed, kneeling over me. _Master wants to come inside. Master is very welcome._ My internal monologue creeps me out for a moment there, making me feel weird and abnormal. My thoughts are wild as he puts his hands on either side of me, guiding himself in. I clench my eyes shut at the slight tightness, the sting.

 _Mine, my precious, mine, ooh master, precious._

I realize I'm distracting myself from the pain. The inner Gollum's help calm me from the foreign sensation.

Once he feels completely in, buried in deep, resting in for a short, brief holiday stay, I find courage to reopen my eyes, peering up at him. Christian's eyes are wide on me, a look of unconcealed pleasure there.

"Are you alright?" he whispers softly, his voice tight.

I lick my lips, trying to get accustomed to the experience. The realization hits thick, poignantly. _Holy fuck, I've wanted this over for eight months! It's happening! He's inside me at last! This isn't some fantasy conjured up inside my head. Fruition._

"I'm okay," I assure him weakly, shutting my eyes instinctively as he bends down towards me.

His nose comes near my forehead and my hairline, and I hear him inhaling me in deeply again. Mr Thin Man Charlie's Angels style. I so love that he finds the natural aroma of me intoxicating. Sliding my hands slowly down, I lift them, touching both sides of his waist, his skin. He feels so warm, so good, when I trace my fingernails up slowly around his rib-cage.

"You feel incredibly good," I admit shyly after a moment, exploring his back, feeling his taut muscles, his tendons as he holds himself above me.

"I'm going to move," he warns me, breathing against my hair. I wonder if my hair is edible to him. "Let me know if it hurts and we'll go slow."

Surely I can handle a little pain, particularly from Christian?

He eases back and I feel him move inside me. I watch his face, noticing the way his forearms are shaking as he leans back, then he pushes just as slowly in again, making a strange feeling overcome me. One both painful, yet pleasurable. He closes his eyes, groaning, and damn, he makes my ovaries feel funny and tingly again. Or maybe that's only because he's inside me?

Reaching up, I cup his shoulder blades, squeezing with my palms, caressing him. My inner Gollum croons to him constantly, bellowing out how Christian's his precious and how he needs his strength.

"Faster," I pant out desperately, and I don't even know where the request comes from. Unless it's Gollum surfacing to having his needs met? My fingers tightening over his shoulders, something breaks within me, something impatient, needy. Selfish? "You're going too slow, Christian. I need you!"

I start moving below him, pushing my groin up and down, sliding up and down the mattress with my pelvis, needing the pace to go quicker.

Christian stares at me, stunned for a moment at my actions, before he recovers.

"Fuck, you're amazing," he breathes out in astonishment.

My forceful movements only seem to present him tingles of pleasure as well and he pants and moans with me before he moves, heeding my plea. We move together, our hips knocking against each others as we speed up. His mattress makes noises with each thrust, and as Christian shifts slightly on angle, he somehow positions himself in a way to go deeper, better.

"That's it," I gasp out, and a strange sob of happiness tears through me at how wonderful it feels.

Christian seizes a fistful of my hair in strands, dragging it up to his nose, breathing it in deeply before he releases my hair, bending down to kiss me roughly instead, his mouth crushing into mine, moving fast.

"Mine," he snarls in an animalistic way against my mouth, and it's like he has an inner Gollum of his own. He catches my face in his hands, pulling my head up roughly, forcing me to meet his gaze inches from mine. I can't even move my head, despite him continuing moving fast, rapidly. "Your mine, Ana." He sounds winded, breathless. "Do you hear me?"

It's a threat, a warning as we move, rocking our hips, our skin forming a sheen of sweat together.

" _All_ mine," he growls through gritted teeth, and something feral coming over me, I lift up with my knees, clenching around his waist again, slipping my feet around so my ankles dig into his bare buttocks. He grunts deeply, breathing raggedly. "Tell me you're mine, Ana. Who do you belong to?"

"You, I'm yours," I cry out, and I can tell I'm close. _If only he knew how true that was._ Sensation builds blissfully... amazing. Intense... pleasure. Resting my sweaty forehead against his, I curl my fingers, digging into his flesh on his rib-cage. The noise he makes, the sigh of pain, it thrills me, excites me. "And who do you belong to, Christian?"

I need to hear it. I need to hear that he knows he's mine in every way that I'm his. I need to hear him acknowledge it.

"I'm yours," he repeats back to me, and as he climaxes, I'm already there. He thrusts hard one last time, and then he stills, emptying himself into the condom, into me. We both cry out and stiffen together, Christian collapsing on top of me, exhausted, our foreheads together.

We both pant heavily, trying to come down from the glorious feeling, drained. He stays inside me for several minutes, breathing into my hairline, making strands of my wet fringe blow all over the place. Then once he recovers his energy, Christian carefully pulls out of me, through I mourn the loss of him inside me quietly.

My heart is thumping, the inner Gollum within me sated. I watch Christian as he kneels over me, slinging off the condom, tossing it in a bin beside his bed. As he falls down on the mattress beside me, on his side, I notice the marks on his shoulders, the red lines around his rib-cage.

 _Oops._ I must have been gripping him too hard. My fingernails must have broken the skin.

When Christian notices where I'm looking, he twists around, looking himself at the lines and red scratches around his rib-cage. He's panting heavily, still recovering.

"Look what you've done to me," he says, but his eyes are alight with mirth. He's impressed. "You've ripped me apart, Anastasia." He leans down, pressing his lips against my shoulder. "Not bad for a first time?"

I can't help grinning proudly as I reach over, tracing the marks again. He hisses a little at the sting as I touch them curiously and when I lift up my hand, inspecting my fingers, I realize I must have made him bleed too. There's a little red blood on my fingers. _Who would have known I was capable of doing that? Well, I suppose that's my inner possessiveness coming out to play._

"I made you bleed," I whisper, unable to stop smiling. "I didn't realize I was gripping you that hard." Forgetting that he's there, I peer closer at the blood on my fingers, and then I put my fingers into my mouth, sucking off his very being, his very essence, one fingertip by the next. _Hmm, I can't taste anything, really._ Perhaps I didn't make him bleed enough? I hear his breathing go disjointed, harder.

"Did you just lick my blood clean off your fingers, Anastasia?"

"Um, no, I didn't," I lie hastily. I feel myself redden as I close my eyes, chastised. _God, why do I have to be so weird around him? Now he'll think I'm super psycho about him! Which I am, but... still._

"Don't worry," he says, and when I reopen my eyes slowly to look at him, he's grinning. "If you were bleeding, I'd want to see what you taste like, too."

"Really?" My heart surges as I stare at him doubtfully. "You would?"

"I would. I never thought I'd be one for blood play, but... there's something about you."

I'm not entirely sure what he means about the whole blood-play-thing, but I beam regardless, grinning widely. His words seem to take my nerves away. Suddenly, I don't feel so weird, so... freaky when it comes to him. He seems to understand me, he seems just as weird and freaky about me, too. I mean, he sniffs my underwear and seems to overly love the smell of my feminine odor. He broke into my bedroom and stole my lipstick. Oh, and let's not forget about the fuzzy hair from my hairbrush.

 _Could it be truly possible that he is perfect for me in every way?_

* * *

When I wake, it's still dark.

I feel too warm, too sweaty and hot, like I'm standing near a fireplace, getting burnt. Or like I've been sleeping in the sun, and now my skin is all crispy with sun damage and sweaty. I shift beneath the blankets and it occurs to me I'm wrapped up in Christian Grey.

He's sleeping peacefully, his arm around me, pressed up against me. And yeah, I'm pretty sure its his considerable length that is resting wedged between my bottom cheeks. How on earth did that happen?

But then I recall what we did together, how he told me I'm his and he's mine, and I grin. It was perfection, everything I imagined it would be and more. Because the blanket is low around his waist, I see the red fingernail marks there, what I did to him, my man, my belonging, and my smile gets even wider. _I marked him again! I've marked him as mine, claimed him._

I move on my back, being careful not to wake him. He grunts a little, but he doesn't stir, fortunately. I slide around until I'm on my side carefully, and I prop myself up on an elbow, watching him, admiring his sleeping form. _God, I could stare at him all day. And he's mine!_

He looks so young and peaceful when he sleeps. I wish I had my phone close by so I could take a picture of this moment, of him sleeping. Then I could look at it every day, and remind myself of how he looks sleeping. Of how he slept peacefully beside me, still dirty from our love making.I know my phones on the floor, in my jean pocket, but I cannot be bothered moving. I'm too comfortable, too filled with love, with a sort of calm possessiveness over his sleeping face. I sort of want to take a selfie of me near him, just so that its like evidence, something I have forever.

He's so adorable. It's too bad he insisted on wearing a condom. We could have little kids waking us right now, jumping on us with their bare feet, giggling at Mommy and Daddy Grey.

 _Mommy and Daddy Grey. Oh, if only..._

I see those marks on his chest, and I know somebody hurt him. Somebody hurt my poor Christian, and if I knew who, I would confront them like a Vicious Wifey Bear, tearing them apart, because _nobody_ hurts my Christian.

Licking my lips, I start humming gently, softly, the tune to the most romantic song in the world by Sting and The Police. _Oh, can't you see, you belong to me._ I hum with my mouth closed quietly as I reach down tentatively, unable to resist. I stroke my fingers through the strands of his thick hair, sordidly pleased it feels damp and greasy from our sexy time love-making earlier on. _Oh how my poor heart aches, with every step you take..._ I run my fingers down his scratchy chin, his hot throat. _I'll be watching you._ Into the tangly smattering of hair on his chest.

I remember seeing his own collection, how he had my hair again. I wonder if I could sneak out of his bedroom, grab some scissors, and take a lock of his hair as well? Would he catch me? Would he even notice? I need a small lock of his hair for my collection. Running my fingers through the smattering of hair on his chest again, I get an idea.

 _It's now or never. Now's the time before he wakes._

Getting a piece of curly hair at his chest, I grip it between my thumb and forefinger, and then I pull brutally, roughly, fast. Like I'm plucking a hair with a set of tweezers. Christian moves a little, his forehead creasing and eyebrows pulling together in his sleep. Shit, it probably hurt him, but luckily for me, he doesn't rouse.

Happily, I lean back on my pillow, holding the piece of short chest hair up close to my eyes as I inspect it closely. Then I brush it against the line of my lips, back and forth, back and forth, tickling myself. I hope I won't lose it on the way home. I really need to add it to my collection.

 _What he knows won't hurt him. And besides, he stole some of my hair after all. I'm sure couples do this all the time._

* * *

When I get home, I see Kate is in a stressed mood, trying to figure out what to wear. She's like a junkie on crack, modeling different outfits for me, her face flushed, a huge red zit on her chin due to all the stress.

"Kate, calm down," I try to soothe her while going through my Christian Grey folder collection. "What's got you so stressed out?" I flip the page, finding the little piece of chest hair I stuck to a piece of paper with tape in one of the plastic pockets. Gee, last night was so wonderful. I cannot believe I lost my virginity to my dream man finally.

 _I got my cherry popped by Christian Grey. My soon-husband. The father of my future children. It can only go up from here_. Kate hasn't even asked me about it, surprisingly. She's too freaked out on choosing clothes.

"God, Ana, I don't know what I'm gonna do!" Kate whines, on the verge of crying as she shows me a T-shirt and denim skirt combo. "Elliot invited me over tonight and I don't know what to wear!"

Closing my folder with a sigh, I give her my time and attention. I really need to focus on her. "Okay. So what's the occasion?"

"Elliot asked me to meet his parents."

"His parents?" It's like a taunt ringing in my head vindictively, torturing me. _Asked to meet his parents. Elliot's parents. And my husband's parents._ I feel a little lightheaded when it occurs to me how fast and serious it is getting between Kate and Elliot. It is so unfair. I just handed over my V-Card, gift-wrapped, to my dream man last night. So why didn't Christian invite _me_ to meet the in-laws- that important, inevitable next stage of any relationship? "Is Christian going to be there?"

"Um, probably. Apparently its a family tradition, having dinner on Wednesday's." She shakes her head at me and waves her hands around frantically. "Ana, try to focus on me and my dilemma for a second, please. Not on your all-consuming-obsession with Grey, okay?"

I know I should be focusing on her, as any good friend does, but I just... I cannot get past this. My head throbs. My teeth clench painfully. My hands tighten over the folder I am clasping in my hands without my control.

 _A family tradition every Wednesday night? Why didn't Christian invite me? We're all going to be family eventually, aren't we? So what the hell!_

My inner Alex Forrest rears her malicious head, provoking me into action.

"Kate, I'm coming with you," I mutter decisively, standing from my chair.

"Wait? What, Ana? Did Christian even-"

"- It doesn't matter what Christian Grey did or didn't do," I say loudly under my breath in frustration. "All I know is that I'm coming with you to have dinner at the Grey's tonight. I think it's time I meet my in-laws, Kate."

Besides, at my graduation he forced himself onto my step-father Ray, outing himself as my boyfriend. It's only fair I force myself onto his parents and out myself as _his_ girlfriend, isn't it? It makes total sense to me, and I think I'm ready to take that next step, Christian's readiness be damned. Before Kate can say another word, I storm up to my bedroom, taking my folder with me. Sometimes drastic times call for drastic measures.

Sometimes a girl's got to be forceful. And this is one girl who refuses to sit idly and let her man go.

Opening my closet, I shove all my clothes aside, looking for the sexiest yet conservative dress I own. I have to make an extremely good impression on the parentals, after all.

 _I'll show him. I'll show Christian who he belongs to._

 _I'll show him what happens when he ignores me._

 ** _CPOV:_**

When I pull up into the driveway, I check my Smartphone again. I sigh loudly when I see I have no new messages. It's been a full day since Anastasia and I slept together. A full day and I feel like I'm going crazy.

She hasn't texted me at all. She hasn't even updated her Twitter account or posted anything in Facebook regarding our night together- not a cheeky hint at anything, no references. Not even a new photo, for fuck sake. I had half a mind to make an uninvited drop by to her house to confront her about it.

Since what happened with her last night, I couldn't get it out of my head all day. I was in a business meeting, constantly zoning off, recalling the way I felt inside her, her warmth, the way her lips tasted and how her hair smelled. Fuck, I even caught myself grinning every time the material of my shirt rubbed against the marks her nails left on my back and around my stomach. It had been impossible to concentrate. All I could seem to think of was Rabbit vibrators and Anastasia and the way she bared herself to me, touching herself.

Last night had been the best night of my life, if ever.

Ana had certainly seemed to enjoy it as well. She was certainly responsive; Biting her lip, flushing when I touched her, responsive and cooing when she touched herself. She definitely had a good time, so why the fuck isn't she giving me anything?

To make matters worse, here I am, forced to do another family tradition. I would rather break into Anastasia's bedroom again and dive into her sheets, rolling around until I start to smell like her, but what else can I do about that?

This is something I have unfortunately been doing for years.

Every Wednesday, I have to come around to dinner. Keeping up with the Joneses, so to speak. Having to endure my mother constantly throwing secret remarks my way, speculating on whether I'm gay. Having annoying Elliot joking to my mother that I _am_ gay. Having my father reassuring me that there is nothing wrong to be gay.

Sucking it up and preparing myself for the tirade of gay remarks, I straighten the collar of my business shirt and grab the bottle of wine I've brought for my mother before climbing out of the car and closing up. As I cross up the stairs, carrying the bottle, I see through the window that the lights are on in the kitchen.

There my mother is, hovering around the oven, trying to cook one of her latest dishes. I expect to see my father with her, helping her along, only...

I stop still, my shoes scuffling on the concrete. There's a blonde girl I haven't seen before standing to the side of the refrigerator, arms crossed anxiously, watching my mother. I can't see her face because her heads not in my direction.

Elliot has company?

And then I spot someone else, bending down near the oven as well, looking inside near Grace.

I inch closer to the window, peering in curiously. My mother never told me we had company? Usually this is just boring family shit that we do together.

I feel my breath hitch in my throat and my heart stutter as I look at the girl. Her bottom is facing the window as she bends, which means naturally I get a glorious front row view of up her tight, thigh-length lilac dress. Her thighs are familiar, and so is the underwear she's wearing beneath the dress. The underwear is red, baggy on her. Like a diaper being weighed down with infant shit.

 _Fuck me sideways. Is that who I think it is?_

My mouth hangs open as I shove my head near the glass, looking in to see better.

It all immediately clicks together when the girl straightens from bending, turning slightly.

That long hair, straightened and dangling below her shoulders and collarbone. Those slender legs that were wrapped around me just last night, those ankles squeezing my ass as I moved above her, fucking her, loving her up.

 _Is that-_

Suddenly they all turn towards the window, the three of them. My mother must have seen me snooping, and she points me out through the glass, waving fondly. The girl looks at me through the glass too, and my heart seizes.

 _What? What the fuck is she doing here? How?_

Anastasia smiles at me, lifting a hand, twiddling her fingers at me in a wave as her cheeks seem to redden. There's a gleam in her beautiful clear eyes, something malicious, determined. _Did she do this on purpose? How did she know I have dinner at my parents house every Wednesday?_

I feel like I can't even move as she turns away, grabbing a shining sharp knife from my mother as she passes it to her. She's helping cook, I realize. She's helping Grace cook, and the way she starts slicing carrot with the knife. _Fuck me. Her knife skills are mad. Serial killer mad._

How funny. Even after last night, even after discovering some of my Anabilia, she still hasn't run for the hills. A part of me always feels on-guard around her, braced and ready, like she's any second away from doing it. I'm too fucked-up, too abnormal for her. Or so I thought. _Apparently not._ She truly does get me, if her lack of reaction to me breaking into her apartment and stealing her lipstick, as well as the hair as a memento, is anything to go by. I thought that if I let anyone see me for who I am, who I really am, that they'd run away. But not her. This glorious, beautiful woman, Anastasia Steele, seems to both see me and accept me. She's looking half behind the mask, she's unleashed this strange frightening side of me, and yet still, she hasn't turned away.

Right now and here, I want to grab her by the hair, sniff her in, get her to run her nails down my back again. I want to bite that lip of hers. I want to know why she's here or why she isn't running after last night. I want to spank the shit out of her until that diaper-like underwear rolls down to her shins. Most off all, I want to make her come while she declares that she's mine, that she recalls who she belongs to.

Only I can't. Not at my parents house.

Later.

 _Again, sorry for taking long to update. Life has kept me away but I haven't forgotten about this story. Admittedly, time away helps me think up where to go next. Hope it isn't too crazy or weird. I swear I'm normal in my daily life despite this story haha._


	21. Chapter 21

_**Chapter 21**_

I feel like I've walked onto the set of Desperate Housewives as I follow Kate up the long expanding driveway to the Grey's mansion. It's so beautiful here. Beautifully and immaculate hedges lining the garden. A fountain nearby. A gorgeous arrangement of beautiful flowers in a garden bed. Whoever does the gardening here, they are doing an excellent job of maintaining it.

"Shit, I'm nervous," Kate squeaks out beside me, readjusting her pale pink dress over her knees. "You sure I look okay?"

"Kate, for the hundredth time, you look wonderful," I reassure her, pushing my long hair back over my shoulders. "You look so pretty in that dress."

"Aw, thanks." She gives me an appreciative smile. "I was just so nervous at the idea of meeting Elliot's folks. It really helps your here with me though."

"Of course I'd be here with you. I mean, I have to meet Christian's parents too."

"Yeah, about that..." We reach the door and Kate presses down on the doorbell, a cute little jingle ringing out between us. "What if Grey freaks out that you're here?"

"Tough. He introduced himself to Ray as my boyfriend," I mutter, watching a shadow dance from inside as someone goes to open the door. "I think it's only fair he gets a taste of what its like."

The door opens, and there stands who must be Christian and Elliot's mother. She's so warm, so inviting. She grins and laughs pleasantly as she takes us both in.

"Welcome, I don't know if Elliot's told you, but I'm Grace," she says, touching both our arms gently, guiding us in. "So glad you could make it, both of you." She probably didn't even know I was coming and she probably doesn't even know who I am, yet she's so lovely, so encouraging.

I can see her becoming like my ultra-loving, super-supportive mother-in-law. I bet, once Christian and I get married, we'll be really close. You hear of mother-in-laws that are really rude and monsters to the women that have married their sons. I know that won't be us.

Kate and I gush in shock at the extravagance of even their hallway. We've barely just stepped a foot inside the front door, and already, there's dome lights lit up, lighting the hallway. A glimmering crystal chandelier on the ceiling. A Persian rug that runs out beneath our feet.

Suddenly, a man appears. It must be Christian's father, my father-in-law.

"Hello, young ladies," he says, and he extends a hand out to us. "Carrick."

"I'm Kate, Elliot's girlfriend," Kate whispers, and poor thing, she sounds as though she's shitting herself.

"Oh yes, I'm so pleased about that," Grace pipes up happily. "It's about time that boy settles down. So nice for him to finally have a girlfriend." Her eyes dart my way questioningly.

"Oh, and this is my friend Ana," Kate introduces, and I reach out, shaking Carrick's hand with a smile.

"I'm Christian's girlfriend," I finally gush out, and it's like a huge relief. Weight lifts off my shoulders as Carrick and Grace exchange a look, shocked yet pleased.

Apparently they didn't know Christian was seeing someone, it would seem. _Sneaky, sneaky._

"Oh, did I hear that, right?" Grace glances at me, then at Carrick again, slapping a hand over her throat. If I'm not mistaken, she seems on the verge of crying with happiness. "Christian has a girlfriend also?"

"Your dreams have come true," Carrick laughs gently. "Twice in one night."

"It is like a dream," Grace murmurs, and she glances between Kate and I again, warm, motherly. "Finally, those two boys are getting their act together." She winks at us both playfully, then urges us along. "I'm sorry if I'm bit panicked at the moment. I left it a little too late to cook the roast beef, and it's still going in the oven."

Kate and I admire the house as we follow her into the kitchen. Her kitchen is huge with shining clean black and white linoleum. Her kitchen bench is white granite, her oven a huge new modern contraption.

"So how long have you two been dating my boys?" Grace asks eagerly as she grabs a hand towel. She opens the oven door, the glorious smell of roast beef assaulting us. She grabs a thermometer, checking the temperature. "I'd say another twenty minutes," she mutters to herself. Closing the oven door and standing again, she looks between us eagerly, using the dish towel as a fan.

"Um, Elliot and I just pretty much started dating," Kate informs her from behind me. "He asked me out just last week on the Friday after we went ice skating together." I glance back at Kate in surprise. _She never told me Elliot actually asked her out. How great._

Grace nods appreciatively and glances at me, her eyebrows lifting a little in question.

 _Oh, shit. Christian hasn't exactly asked me out. Technically, I'm not his girlfriend. Crap, what to say?_

Deflecting the question as I'm not sure how to answer it, I dart my eyes to the matching earrings and necklace she is wearing. "I love your earrings and your necklace, Mrs Grey," I mutter, and luckily for me, it seems to take her attention elsewhere. She beams at my compliment, fiddling with the round blue stones in her long earrings.

But it's true. I'm not just kissing her ass while trying to distract her. The earrings and necklace she is wearing truly are beautiful, complimenting each other perfectly.

"Why thank you, darling," she says, smiling. "Christian actually brought the set of them for me for Mother's Day last year. He keeps me spoiled, that boy does, although he said it was Paul's idea..." She trails off, flushing a little. She breathes out heavily through her mouth, waving the rag again to get some air circulating around her face. "Is it just me and the hot flushes of menopause or is it boiling hot in here, girls?"

"It's definitely not just you," I reassure her, though I'm a little stunned by what she said and her reaction. _Paul? Who the fudge is Paul? And why did she look weird afterwards?_ "It gets quite warm with the oven."

"Yeah, it... it's totally hot in here," Kate mumbles behind me, the anxiety still there in her voice. She sounds so shaky, so timid and unlike herself. But Mrs Grey isn't intimidating at all. She's rather down to earth and normal, I find.

Kate stands behind me nervously, out of place. Kate has a deep-seated fear of kitchens. I'm mostly the one to do the cooking in our house, whereas Kate would rather avoid it at any cost.

Suddenly, Elliot appears in the entryway and it's like it takes all the stress immediately off Kate. She relaxes at the sight of him as he makes a loud entrance, screaming that he's "Got some goodies"- which is beer bottles and a box of chocolates. He kisses his mother and hands her the chocolates, which she seems very pleased about.

Elliot's dressed in black trousers and a shirt, with a matching black blazer thrown on. The black makes him look slimmer and more mischievous somehow. _But where is Christian? Did Christian come with him or what? Where is that man?_

"Hey baby-boo," he mutters to Kate, slipping an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close into his side. Kate melts, grinning widely as she starts stroking the tip of her nose against his.

"Hi there, boo-boo face," she whispers back in a freaky baby voice, and they both laugh, lost in each other. It's rather creepy, how smitten and overly affectionate they seem. _Boo-boo face? Baby-boo?_

 _I wonder if Christian would let me call him some outrageous name, like Shorty Face or Phooey-Gooey Sexy Man._

Elliot sticks out his tongue and Kate does the same, and they let the tip of their tongues touch each others several times while making grotesque mewling noises. _Um, what the fudge? Holy cheese-balls, that's a bit much when you're meeting the parents, right?_

I can't help glancing Grace's way, hoping she finds it just as gross and freaky as I do. Only I find her entranced by watching them, a soft smile on her face as she tilts her head, her eyes glowing with tenderness at their exchange. She seems so happy, so content.

When she meets my gaze again, she winks at me naughtily. "Those were the days, weren't they?" She checks on the beef again. "I remember when Carrick and I were like that. God, we couldn't seem to keep our hands off of each other."

Somehow it feels wrong, hearing Christian's mother telling me about her sex life with her husband.

"Um, can I help with anything, Mrs Grey?"

She straightens, looking at all the food she has already prepared thoughtfully. The potatoes, already boiled. The salad.

"Oh, I forgot the carrot. How good are you with cutting? Would you mind?"

I grin wildly, suddenly feeling useful. "I'm pleased to have you know that I'm really skilled with a knife, Mrs Grey. Of course I'd be happy to help out and cut some carrot up for you."

She smiles at me gratefully, grabbing a carrot from inside the large two-door stainless steel refrigerator she has. As she hands it to me with a chopping board, about to fetch me a knife, Elliot says loudly, "Think the bro's on his way up the driveway."

 _The bro?_ My heart surges in trepidation. Excitement, too. W _hat will Christian think once he sees me here? Will he be mad that I invited myself to his family dinner? Is this too Alex-Forrest-Fatal-Attraction to him, where she shows up unannounced, boiling a pet bunny?_

My heart is racing overtime. I feel ridiculously nervous and panicked as Elliot shoves the beers on the table while his mother sets the chocolates on the counter. A bit nauseated too, but that may just be only because I witnessed Kate and Elliot's disgusting excessive affectionate moment. Elliot goes to greet his brother, whistling happily. _What if his reaction is bad to me being here?_ I can't help stressing. _What if he demands I leave?_ I know I won't be able to go quietly if he does. _God, what if-_

My hands shake as I lay the bright long carrot on the chopping board. As Grace hands me a long knife while checking the roast in the oven again while I check it along with her, bending down to see how its going myself, she startles at something by the window, startling me badly in return. Jesus, I feel so jumpy. Like I'm in a horror movie or something.

I glance towards where Grace is looking anxiously while moving back to that lone carrot, starting to effortlessly slice it and-

 _Oh God, he's here. Shit sticks!_

Fortunately, it's no Creepy McCreeperson standing outside the window, about to murder us all. No, it's just Christian. Christian stands there close to the glass, peering in. His eyes are right on me. He looks edible, tasty, in a perfectly tailored suit with no tie and the top buttons on his collar hanging undone, showing that small smattering of chest hair. _That chest hair that I stole a piece of for my collection, mmm._ It's impossible to know how he feels on the discovery of me being here at his parents house. His face is unreadable.

"For goodness sake, Christian," Grace gasps in equal amounts of both shock and irritation. Something tells me its a regular occurrence; Christian appearing at the window suddenly like a creepy person. "Scared the living daylights out of me! He really has to stop doing that!"

 _Damn, he can creep up on me anytime. Sexy Creeperson. Mr Sexy Creep._

I toss the thoughts aside, focusing on the carrot before I end up hacking off my fingers. My heart is too fast still, my breathing breathless. I'm still dreading his reaction, even although he didn't appear too mad staring at me in the window. If anything, he looked as though he wanted to devour me. _Mm, yes please_.

Grace rushes out to greet him, and I hear him come through the front door. Elliot makes sure of that, with the way he shouts loudly, something about Christian not being gay anymore.

"That girl in there, she's a keeper," I think I hear Grace say approvingly. "Any girl who cuts a carrot like that is a definite keeper in my eyes. So pretty, too. Why didn't you tell me you had a girlfriend? You've been hiding this one from me, haven't you?"

I don't get to hear what Christian says in response unfortunately. Grace comes back into the room, smiling broadly as she carries the bottle of wine Christian brought with him. Then Christian enters, and my eyes fly up to him, warily, nervously. Both hands are tucked deeply inside his trouser pockets as he strolls in, giving Kate his attention first. _Huh. Is he ignoring me on purpose?_

"Miss Kavanagh," I hear him say smoothly, and I hear a distinctive pecking noise.

I stiffen at the sound, my blood thrumming through my veins. Did he just kiss Kate on the cheek? It disturbs me, how irrationally offended I feel even after that, despite knowing Kate is no real threat. She's my best friend and she's trustworthy, totally hooked on Elliot. But still. Where's my kiss?

"That was fast," Grace says admiringly and when I glance at her, I realize she's impressed by my knife handling skills. I've managed to chop the entire carrot up into neat, Julienne style strips. "How'd you learn to use a knife? Were you a marine girl, as well as a model?"

 _As well as a model? Um, what the eff? Model? Where did she get that idea from?_

"Anastasia isn't a model, Mother," Christian intervenes, and finally, _finally_ I get a piece of him too. "Anastasia," he greets in that sexy, tongue caressing voice of his, and all too suddenly, I get pleasant flashbacks of what we did together last night as I dart my eyes up to meet his.

He bends down to press his lips against my cheek chastely, but that just will not do. I quickly move, so he ends up kissing me right on the lips instead. His lips peck mine and without thinking, I grab his arm, pressing my lips eagerly back into his, prolonging the kiss. _There, I can be greedy._

When we pull away, Christian stares deeply into my eyes for a moment, something dark and delicious there.

"Oh. She isn't a model?" Grace's confused voice tears us out of our moment, and we both glance her way. "But I could have sworn that it was Anastasia that-"

"-Mother," Christian warns, an undercurrent there in his voice. When I peer up at Christian again, I see he is directing a look of stern yet desperate pleading onto her, an expression that says, _Don't say anymore please_.

 _Hmm. What's that all about? And why on Earth would his mother think I'm a model?_

"I'm definitely not a model," I explain with an awkward laugh. Wow, the tension in here is thick. "I mean, look at me. I'm no model, but I do work at a Hardware store where I'm sort of required to use a knife to cut things like rope and cables. Not sure where you gathered the impression I'm a model, though?"

Grace is still staring at Christian, stroking her necklace with her fingers idly. There's something there in her gaze, something meaningful that I don't understand. It's a bit like she's chiding him with her motherly look, like she's showing him how unhappy she is about something. That she's figured something out that deeply worries her. When I peek up at him, he's still giving her that look. A look that pleads for her to drop whatever it is that she wants to say. I wonder what's going on right now, because I have no idea.

"Well, I don't know about anybody else here, but I could certainly use a glass of wine," Christian mutters, glancing away from her hastily. He moves over towards where Grace put his wine, then he turns to face us all again. "Miss Kavanagh?" I notice he won't directly meet his mother's gaze. "Anastasia? Wine?"

"Hell yeah," Kate agrees in relief, while I nod quietly.

Grace is still watching him closely, even when he pops the cork on the wine and grabs three glasses. She's kind of freaking me out right now. Then she startles, finally seeming normal again.

"Oh Jesus. The beef," she gasps, remembering the roast in the oven. Frantically, she opens the oven door, a smell of sickly burnt oil and heat wafting over us all. "Goddamn it," she grumbles, stressed. She switches off the oven noisily, then she breathes deeply, rubbing her temples with her fingers. _Oh, no. Something's gone wrong._

"What's the matter?" Christian forgets our wines for a moment, placing both hands on her shoulders. His voice is so soothing on her, so sweet. "You look stressed?"

It takes my breath away, the obvious care he has for her. He bends down to glance in the oven as well, the smell of something burning overpowering us. It smells like Kate's gas when she eats beans; A disgusting, pungent deathly odor that follows you for days.

"Just excellent," Grace says in defeat, and she sniffles. "I've overcooked it now. Now who's going to want to eat overcooked beef?"

"Mother, it looks delicious," Christian assures her. My ovaries tingle as he strokes his mother's back. Poor Grace looks on the verge of sobbing over burnt beef. It's tragic. "Yes, it's a little overcooked and charred, but it'll still taste delicious, Mother." He grabs a glass of the wine, handing it to her. "Here, take a drink. It's your favorite."

 _Holy fuck. He is so gorgeous and lovely to her. I need to get this man to marry me._

My mind drifts as I see him being that way towards our little Ana's and Christian's. Little Ana sobbing because her painting didn't work out right, while Christian kneels before her, speaking in the same reassuring, comforting tone he uses towards Grace, his Mother. Our Little Christian falling over, while Daddy Christian hugs him and puts a band-aid on his sore knee. _How adorable._

 _How precious,_ my inner Gollum croons at how domesticated Christian looks as he takes off his jacket, and I take it from him, holding it for him while he rolls up his sleeves, determined on helping to get the tray of beef out of the oven. _My precious,_ Gollum cries in orgasmic bliss as Christian removes the tray, setting it on the sink.

I instinctively rub Grace's shoulder as we all inspect the damage. Christian's right; It looks dry and tough and black in certain spots. But surely it's still edible?

"It looks delicious, Grace," I speak up, echoing Christian's words. It's obvious she needs the encouragement right now, poor thing. "Honestly, it may be a little overcooked, but it'll still be _so good_."

I catch Christian staring at me over Grace's shoulder. The look in his eyes for me, how warm his gray eyes are, the shining appreciation in them... _I so need to have his babies. Like right now._

"See, Mother? What did I tell you?" Christian mutters softly. "Anastasia agrees. It looks delicious. Now let's get this thing on a plate and have dinner."

Taking charge, Christian grabs a huge porcelain platter, taking control of the situation. I still cannot get over how husbandly he looks and is acting right now. It turns me on. It's like an aphrodisiac. Who needs oysters?

"Big juicy cow," Christian mutters, grabbing two sets of prongs. He stabs them into the beef, and it makes a weird queefing noise, spluttering oil on the front of him. "Great, there goes my fucking shirt."

I burst out laughing, despite the scolding look Grace gives him at his language. She looks so stressed and upset still, and she downs the glass of wine he gave her within barely two mouthfuls like a champion.

"Think that's funny, Miss Steele?" He asks me, his voice going playfully foreboding as he transfers the beef onto the plate.

"Very funny," I mutter back with a giggle snort. He gives me a strange look at the noise and I flush. _God, what is wrong with me? Now I'm snorting like a pig._ _At least he isn't mad that I pulled an Alex Forrest on him though. This seems to be going well._

 _Or maybe I spoke too soon?_

"Here, Mother. You take this out to the table while I take Anastasia outside for a moment." He hands the big chunk of beef on the plate carefully to his mother, something there in his voice. "She wants a tour of the garden."

 _I want to see the garden? What?_

"Um, yes," I play along quickly. "I love flowers."

"Come." I scrutinize his face carefully while he grabs my hand, pulling me along.

 _Shit, is this the part where he demands I leave?_

"Please don't murder me," I find myself blabbing as he drags me out a door.

"Don't tempt me," he mutters quietly, and I don't know whether he's kidding or not. The fact that I don't, it both thrills and scares me on some level. "But fortunately for you, I'm not in the mood to be a serial killer tonight either."

 _Jesus, we kill me. How we seem to have the same humor. How we joke freely about being serial killers as though it's normal. Can't he see how perfect we are?_

The door opens up onto a balcony thing with heaps of pretty plants in vases. Mosquitoes flutter around us and I have to clench my eyes shut quickly when one almost darts in there near my eyeball. Stupid, pesky mosquitoes.

"I hope your Mom's okay. She looks really upset that she overcooked the beef."

He starts pulling me down a set of cobblestone steps. _Um, where the heck is he taking me?_

"She's been unpredictable with her mood lately. My little sister Mia went to France and Mother doesn't quite know what to do with herself."

"Oh," I whisper sympathetically. "Must be hard. You were really good with her?" I am still squealing internally at how sweet he was with her. You can tell he really loves her.

"Well, she's my Mother. Of course I'm good with her."

Christian yanks me down another set of stairs, making me have to walk real fast. It gets darker and darker, each step we take, because there aren't any lights anymore. _Seriously, where the hell is he taking me?_ _To a dungeon to chain me up?_ I hear crickets chirping and a mosquito seems dead-set on following us.

"I appreciate what you did nevertheless in helping calm her down. It helped."

"You don't need to say anything," I say back. "I meant it. The beef still looks yummy even although overcooked and burnt. I'll eat it for sure, anyway." It dawns on me that we're having a completely normal conversation. No weirdness, no freaky comments. Just normal conversation about normal things.

"She likes you a lot," Christian states as he drags me down yet another set of steps. _Jesus, how many steps is there? How deep can we go?_ "I've never brought a girl over for dinner before, only now I have. You've made sure of that, haven't you?"

Finally, he stops and he turns around to face me. I have to lean back against the stone wall behind me when he stands real close, basically pinning me to the wall. I can't tell if he's mad at all.

"What are you doing here?" he finally asks in confusion, and immediately, I get my defenses up. The Alex Forrest within me growls at the nerve he has to ask that.

"Remember at my graduation, Christian? When you practically outed yourself as my boyfriend to my stepfather Ray when we hadn't even discussed it?"

"I remember clearly," he says, his voice tight.

"Well, _there_ you go. Now _you_ know how it feels."

He sighs loudly and I really wish I could see his damn face right now. But its too dark, and that stupid mosquito keeps buzzing near my ear, thirsty for blood.

His mother's strange words come back to me. "Why did your mother assume I was a model? Why would she think that?"

"I don't know. Because maybe you're incredibly beautiful?"

 _I'm incredibly beautiful?_ I feel my cheeks flush gleefully at that, not that he could even tell. "Ha ha. Somehow I don't think that's it, though thank you for saying you think I'm incredibly beautiful. But I could have sworn there's something... more to it?"

"Let's go back up now," he says, and he starts pulling me back towards the steps. He's evading my question.

"Ah, I see what you're doing," I mutter in annoyance as he starts climbing back up the steps with me. "You're deflecting." Rolling my hand up into a fist, I swoop forward and around, pounding him lightly in the stomach as if I'm holding an invisible knife. "Stabbed you," I whisper teasingly, then I get my hand free, walking ahead of him up the steps.

 _And my weirdness couldn't stay away for long obviously._

"What's with your underwear?" he demands suddenly from behind me, and he's obviously not in as playful a mood as I am. "I saw your little show when you bent down. Well done, Miss Steele. Very impressive."

"What show?" What the hell is he talking about? I stop on the step I'm on, twisting around. It's impossible to see him though.

"When you bent down near the oven, that little stunt you pulled so I could see up your dress and at your panties."

It wasn't purposeful though. I hadn't even know he was there. "I didn't even know you were there, Christian. You were lurking in through the window, so how was I supposed to know you were perving up my dress like a Creeper McCreeper?"

"You didn't answer my question," he grumbles, sounding unhappy. "Oh, and by the way, I thought we had an agreement on the weekly donation of unwashed panties?"

Wow. He really wants to talk about that here at his parents house, in their garden?

"You sound very... frustrated?" I observe.

"You haven't given me this weeks panties yet. _Of course_ I'm frustrated." I suddenly become aware of how close he is standing near me on the step when I feel his hands reaching out, trying to lift up my dress. "Like I said. Like cocaine, Anastasia. I need my fix and I need it now."

He wants me to give him my underwear so he can sniff them in now? Oh, no. But I'm wearing his boxers. I just find them so breathable and comfy. A little saggy at times, sure, but comfortable.

 _So much for being somewhat normal together..._

 **Hope you enjoyed this one :) Too silly? Sorry and thank you so much for being so kind. I strive to get some laughs out of you all so that's mainly why I write this story (and I'm probably a bit weird haha). I know Ana is pushy but so was Christian in the books and film (turning up where her mother was with her, graduation, etc). She's a lot like him in that sense. Sorry if its annoying, it's all intended in light fun. If there is anything you would like to see plot wise, feel free to let me know. More serious talks, such as Christian revealing his past/who hurt him on his chest? More overboard stalking (Christian getting men like Sawyer to follow Ana's every whereabouts twenty four seven to take picture of her to report back to Christian? Christian jealous of hearing Ana talking to another man? Ana called Grace to explain what she's heard Elena did to Christian as a young boy? I'd love to know if there's anything you'd like to read. :)**


	22. Chapter 22

Thank you so much. Hope you enjoy this one :)

 **Chapter 22**

"Christian," I gasp when I feel him get down on his knees, kneeling on the step below me. He's a relentless, needy pantie-sniffing monster in the dark, his hands eagerly pushing up the ends of my dress. I feel flushed, heated, when I feel his chin rest and nudge against my bare belly.

I thought he was just kidding. Apparently not. He truly is like a junkie fiend, desperate and hungry for his fix.

"Christian, I hardly think this is appropriate." I giggle snort when he brushes his hands slowly up my legs, my thighs, gripping, squeezing.

"I meant what I said, Ana." I really wish I could see him down there, but its impossible without any lights on. The moonlight offers a faint silver hue, but I still can't see him very well. He runs his hands up to the underwear, and he makes a deep noise through his throat. I know he's put two and two together then. I know he's realized I'm wearing his underwear. "These aren't your panties," he whispers in shock. And a bit of arousal, I think?

"Remember when I said I liked wearing your underwear?" I remind him, a bit shyly. "I didn't want weekly donations of your underwear so I could sniff them like you want to with mine, Christian." I have to clear my throat weakly. I sound too hoarse, too croaky. "I... I like wearing them."

I have no idea how he feels about that. I can hear him breathing, rather loudly, as his fingers slide over the baggy part and crotch seam of his underwear, where it's saggy because I definitely don't have a pair of grapes and a banana, which is where that part of the male anatomy is supposed to go and be supported. But that's it. _What's he thinking? Is he too freaked out? Too turned-off?_

"How you continuously surprise me, Miss Steele," he mutters, and I am very relieved to hear he sounds both pleased and warm. "So daring, wearing my underwear at my parents house."

"Well, what can I say?" I murmur back with a breathless laugh. My breath hitches when I feel him at last. He leans in, his face going near there. The tip of his nose brushes against that private part of me through the fabric, warm and tender. His hair and forehead brushes against the lower part of my belly skin, tickling me. "It's what you do to me."

Instinctively, I reach down, touching his hair. I stroke the soft strands of his hair gently as I hear him breathe me in, inhaling me like I'm perfume or some inviting scent of food as he holds my dress up over my stomach, above his head.

God, we're at his folks house, my future in-laws and we're outside, in their backyard by the steps, in the dark because the lighting is very poor. We're at his parents in their backyard and Christian's on his knees on the lower steps, holding up my dress while he indulges in his panty sniffing fetish. I know this is probably not normal for two people, but I can barely bring myself to care. It feels perfectly normal, for us. It's like another sign that we belong together, almost.

I feel turned-on and happy that he likes the scent of my natural feminine aroma- and I hardly find it peculiar at all that I'm letting him go for his life, sniffing me in. Heck, if he ever wanted me to do this, standing still touching his hair while he breathes me in for hours and hours, I think I willingly would let him. Because we're perfect together, we belong together, and that's what you do for your soul mate, the man of your dreams, your other half.

"Um, how come Elliot kept making weird jokes before about you being gay when you came in through the front door?" It's weird, trying to maintain conversation while he's down there doing his thing, but I try my best. It seems to make it less awkward anyway.

He laughs breathlessly, sending hot air blowing through the crotch part in the underwear, tickling my bush. _Wow, he's really getting close, enjoying and relishing the experience. And maybe I am too?_ "It's something of an annoying inside joke for Elliot," he explains. "Since I've never brought a girl home before, he likes to joke that it's because I'm gay."

"Oh, well, I can vouch for you when I say you most definitely aren't gay," I mutter, flushing, getting vivid flashes of last nights intense love making. _Mm, it was so good._ "Especially after last night."

"Jesus," he groans, panting on me some more, and I feel him turn his head. He rests the side of his cheek against me, down there, warming me, making me tingle delightfully. "What have you done to me?" he says in confusion when a low whimper leaves my lips. "What have you made of me? What have you... unleashed?"

His words of wonder make me feel basking, make me feel like a goddess.

"Ditto," I whisper, smiling as I lay my hands flat on his head, his hair. "Right back at you, Mr Grey. Those are questions that I could really use having an answer to myself."

I'm not quite ready for him to stop doing what he's doing, so when he moves back, pulling my dress back down decently over me, I'm left feeling stunned and deprived.

"We better get back inside for dinner before a search party is created for us. Last thing we need is for my family to catch me nose-deep in your crotch."

He stands back up, and I climb back up the cobblestone steps with him unsteadily, feeling dazed by what just happened between us. I purse my lips to stop myself from grinning as he opens the door and we get back inside where its fully lit and bright. I can't help feeling naughty, like we just did something deviant together out in the backyard, something secret between us.

When I glance up at Christian's face quickly, I can see he is trying to look remotely normal, too. He has his lips flattened in a straight line as he runs his hand through his hair, and I can tell he's trying not to smile too by the way his cheeks lift.

"Enjoy the garden?" Mr Grey asks once we enter the large living room, and Christian holds my chair open for me.

I almost crack and blow it by smiling widely as I sit at the table. _Enjoy the garden? Oh, did we ever. Christian certainly seemed to enjoy the garden. The smell and scent of my lady garden, that is._

"Yes, Christian showed me all the flowers," I lie, almost effortlessly. "It looks really beautiful."

Grace makes a noise of happiness over my praise. "We don't believe in hiring gardeners," she explains as she starts filling her plate up with boiled potato. "Everything you see out there, the lawn, the flowers- Carrick and I did it ourselves."

"Took us an extremely long time to get it right," Carrick adds. "And there are so many things to consider. What flowers grow where and in what conditions and soil. Which seed product grows grass on the lawn the best."

We all fall silent as we fill up our plates, a big happy family gathering at the in-laws. The dining room table is huge and polished mahogany, candles illuminating the room in the center of the table, among the plates and a white linen runner. Carrick does the honors on slicing the big chunk of beef, and you can tell how overcooked and tough it is by how much he strains to slice it. Grace notices, stressing again, poor thing.

"See, I've ruined everything, haven't I?" she says sadly. "I understand if no one wants to eat it." She gives me and Kate an apologetic look. "Please don't feel like you have to. I'm so sorry, girls."

"Don't be silly, Mrs Grey. It looks great," Kate and I assure her at the same time. But despite our words, Grace still doesn't look too convinced.

"Well, with that said." Grace stands, looking at us all again. "Who else would like a glass of the wine Christian brought over for us?"

"Yes please," Kate agrees eagerly while Elliot holds up his beer. Grace glances at me and Christian quickly.

"Please," Christian and I say at the same time, and I can't help smiling widely, flushed _. How adorable. We're like twins, saying the same thing._ Apparently Grace notices it, too.

"Wow, definitely a match in heaven, you two are," Grace comments, winking at us fondly. "You're even saying the same things." I am definitely loving Grace. She gets us. She gets that we are perfect, that we belong together, just like I do.

As she goes to leave and get the wine, I glance Christian's way nervously. I wonder if he realizes how perfect we are too, if he's already acknowledged and accepted that. Does he know? I wonder, watching his face desperately while he speaks to Carrick as Carrick drops a huge chunk of black, burnt beef onto his plate. He must know, surely. Well, he better, because I am so not letting him go. Not ever.

"Ana?" Carrick's voice breaks me out of my ogling. He's eyeing me questioningly. The beef.

"Oh, yes please," I murmur, and I hand my plate to him. He gives me a very generously large piece of beef, and as I set my plate down on the table, Christian immediately serves me a large helping of potato and green beans.

Grace returns with our drinks and, by that time, I am struggling to cut through my huge chunk of roast beef. Even although the knives are sharp, the beef is difficult to cut through and is too tough.

When I manage to get a bite sized piece off, I feel like my teeth are going to fall out when I shove it in my mouth, chewing. It's very hard to chew. When I look at Christian again, I see he is battling to get through chewing his bit of beef as well. He meets my gaze, raising his eyebrows slightly.

Then glancing his mother's way quickly, he does something very sneaky. He grabs his napkin, pretends to wipe his mouth, and I catch him spitting the piece of chewy beef into it. He covers and folds it up in the napkin quickly, and then he leans over towards me, putting his mouth near my ear. My heart literally starts awakening at his presence.

"Just spit it in your napkin if it's too tough," he whispers in my ear, his voice low and soft, cautious not to be overheard. "What Mother doesn't know won't hurt her."

"No, it's fine," I murmur through my mouthful of the beef. I end up having to try swallow the entire chunk, and I help wash it down quickly with a sip of the wine.

Overcooked beef aside, things get even more disastrous when Kate starts running her mouth. She's nervous, and she's always had a tendency to get verbal diarrhea at the best of times. She talks about her aspirations of journalism to Grace and Carrick, which is all fine and dandy. But then she starts talking about Jose, of all things. I don't even know why.

Suddenly, she is airing out our personal history with him. About how Jose tried to kiss me once when we were seven. She just has to go and make things hard on me.

When I allow my eyes to flit to Christian a couple of times while Kate tells the so-called hilarious story of Jose attempting to kiss me, I see he is staring at me, gaping at me, almost. There is a hardness there in his gray eyes, a sort of agitation as he blinks at me. _Great, well done, Kate. I think I'm going to be in the shitter._

"Jose tried to kiss you?" he murmurs quietly, an edge there.

"It's old news, Christian. I mean, it happened a long, _long_ time ago. I had pretty much forgotten the whole thing, until Kate reminded me of it just then. _That's_ how memorable it was."

"He tries to kiss you when you were little children and yet, you're _still_ friends with him after that?" He's outraged, I realize. And maybe jealous? "I told you once that he was obsessed with you, Ana, that I _saw_ the way he looks at you, yet you shrugged it off. And _now I hear_ that he attempted to kiss you while playing hide-and-seek?"

"Christian, we were seven and he chased me around the playground."

"Still, the fact remains. A kiss is a kiss regardless."

There's a lot of china clinking around the table, so everyone is obviously too distracted in eating their meals to even begin to think of eavesdropping. But damn Kate for this, although its rather thrilling, his reaction. He cares that much that he's jealous. I can't blame him. If I were in his shoes, I'd be frothing mad at the mouth, too. And maybe even contemplating murder.

"Next time," he mutters petulantly, and he shakes his head in annoyance.

"Next time, _what_ , Christian?"

"Oh, next time I see him-" he trails off, shoving a furious mouthful of beans into his mouth, chewing angrily.

Then it happens.

Out of nowhere, Christian sets his knife gently on the plate. Then, startling me, he drops his hand beneath the table, grabbing onto my bare thigh. I very nearly shake when his fingers dig into my bony knee, like he's punishing me for what Jose did years and years ago. What on Earth is his problem?

I hiss when he runs his hand up my dress, only to push his fingers through my crotch, poking my lady garden with his forefinger and middle finger, roughly, rudely.

Biting down on my bottom lip while trying to seem normal as Elliot initiates a conversation about some baseball team he loves while Carrick laughs and joins in enthusiastically, I get my revenge. Payback is sweet. Letting go of my fork, I reach down too beneath the table. Christian tries to catch my wrist, but its too late, I'm too fast. I'm successful when I reach his trousers, and I push down with my palm right into his groin, hopefully squishing his Little Christian.

I guess it's true, what they say about men's privates being very sensitive. Knee them in the groin, kick them, squish them with your hand. It's all the same.

Christian's elbow flies out, and he knocks over his glass of wine, making it gush all over the table. Just like that, he's frantic, apologizing to his parents while he stands, wincing while grabbing napkins to wipe up the mess.

 **CPOV:**

This is _too much_ for me. Way _too_ much.

I need to calm myself. I'm surprised I haven't turned green, like the fucking Hulk. It's what the news of Douche-bag Jose trying to kiss Ana as a child has done to me.

I need to be alone to get my shit together.

"Excuse me, I need to use the restroom for a second." I can't even control the way my voice sounds. I sound like someone has got me by the balls, like my balls have been secured to a vice and someone's squeezing the shit out of them as I wipe up the last bit of spilled wine.

Without another word or so much as another glance at Anastasia, I toss the soaked napkins in the bin while I leave the room and rush towards my parents en-suite, wincing because it hurts to walk after what she did to me. I know I'm limping, I'm walking funny as I get into the bathroom. I shut the door, trying to calm myself as I undo my zipper, getting out my dick. I need to piss after what she did, and it hurts.

Not so much what she did to me, but what I just learned about that fucker when Ana was younger. Motherfucker.

This is unbelievable.

I'm shaking as I aim at the toilet bowl, and I feel a bit better once I start to piss. But still. I cannot believe it. Why hadn't she told me this?

Fucking fuck. Asshole Douche-bag.

I knew he was obsessed with her. Always commenting on her Facebook pictures. Those photographs, the canvases that I brought of her. He's obsessed. Fucking fixated on her.

Now all I can see is younger Anastasia being chased by Rodriguez around the school yard. The fucker puckering his lips while Ana runs away.

 _Fuck you, Jose. She's mine, you fuck._

But I had her last night, not him. _I_ was her first and I got to her first.

I made her come, and she said she was _mine_ , that she belonged to me. Not that fuckface, but _me_.

I close my eyes as I breathe out through my mouth deeply, puffing my cheeks. I need to get this together, before I scare her away for good. She's brought out this side of me that's uncontrollable, that's terrifying. This jealous, possessive side of me that wants her all to myself. I cannot believe that fucker tried to kiss her all those years back! Motherfuck!

Opening my eyes once I'm done, I glance down at the toilet seat, horrified. Great. I'm losing it. I'm fucking losing it, and I cannot even control where I piss.

Frantically, I zip up my trousers and violently tear off strips and strips of toilet paper, bending down, mopping up. My aim has gone to shit. I blink down at all the pee on the toilet seat, on the floor, _my parents fucking floor_ , all because of my anger and what she's made me feel, this side she's brought out of me.

I cannot even pee or aim straight because of that fucker!

I'm Christian Grey, she's MINE, and I can't even fucking piss in the bowl!

Once all traces of pee are gone, I toss the toilet paper in the bowl, flushing. As I get to the sink, I turn on the cool water, washing my hands, cupping my hands and flinging water at my too-hot face. I feel like I'm burning up, my hands are shaking. As I close my eyes, splashing water on my face again, I see an image of them through my dark eyelids.

That fucker chasing her. Only Ana stops running and turns, letting him kiss her. Fucking fuck. She's mine. Can't he see that? Anastasia Steele is MINE!

Wrenching off the tap, I pant heavily while grabbing the nearest fluffy towel, wiping my damp face. I'm not green as I look at my reflection in the mirror. I haven't turned into the Hulk or some Green-Eyed Monster hellbent on revenge due to jealousy.

I'm still me, the ugly loathsome shit I always am.

 _I'm still me. And she's all mine._

 **ANAPOV:**

Poor Christian has been gone a long time.

I stop forcing myself to eat, glancing back behind me where he left. I really hope he's okay. I know it was probably bad of me doing what I did, especially when it caused him to knock over his glass of wine with his elbow. I hope I didn't hurt him too much. Did I squeeze too hard with my hand maybe?

Or is it about what Kate said? She really shouldn't have mentioned about what happened when I was younger, because I truly am over it. It was something silly that happened with Jose ages ago, something he hasn't ever tried to do again. We were stupid kids back then, and Jose was being gross. That's all it was. Is Christian upset because of that?

Finally, Christian slowly comes back into the living room, and I sigh with relief. My entire tense body relaxes as he sinks back down beside me in his chair. I scrutinize his face carefully as he starts up conversation smoothly with his father, as if he hadn't ever left the room. I might be overthinking it but... he looks a little red and sweaty?

His hair looks a bit wet and damp at the front? Why?

Maybe it's the overcooked, tough beef? I feel like I have a little indigestion approaching around the corner myself. The beef was a little hard to swallow, not to discredit his lovely Mother Grace's cooking and all the effort she went through, of course.

Taking a sip of his refilled glass, his conversations with his father finally dying down, Christian turns to look at me, discovering I'm studying him.

"What is it, Ana?" he asks, and then he swallows down a long mouthful of wine. _Damn, I wish I was that wine._ He licks his lips, savoring the rich taste of the wine. _Damn, I wish I was even his lips, or what's on his tongue._

"Are you okay?" I whisper in concern. "You took a long time in the bathroom? Was it the overcooked beef, because I'm starting to feel a little gassy myself?"

"Anastasia, I'm fine," he says curtly, placing his glass back down on the table. For some reason, I get the inkling he's lying.

"Christian, despite what you think, I'm an extremely perceptive person. I can tell when someone's lying and when they aren't." I may be being a bit pushy, but I don't care. "Something's wrong with you and you're lying to me?"

He closes his mouth, gritting his teeth. I watch his jaw muscles move as he inhales a sigh out of his nostrils. Finally, he says, "You know what's wrong already, Ana."

"Do I?" _Ah, so it is the beef then?_

"Yes, you do." He won't meet my gaze. He rests an elbow on the table, playing with his glass of wine, pushing it around. "That fucker is what's getting on my nerves," he whispers back at me, his voice low, aggressive. "You should have told me."

Oh, wow. He's not taking what happened with Jose so well. Damn Kate. Although, is it wrong of me to sort of find his reaction sexy? He's jealous and unhappy, possibly feeling threatened. I like it. I like him reacting like that. Now he knows how I feel about him when I think about him with another woman other than me.

I recall how I felt when he met up with his "friend" that day, the blonde Mega-Beast with her Botox face and her tight skirt, so tight that she was rocking a seriously offensive camel toe.

Sure, it may have just been coffee between two friends- according to him- but I didn't like it at all, the fact that he was out with another woman that isn't me, myself, and I. I had felt so murderous back then, like I wanted to smash the window in with my forehead and scream. Or knock that death stick the woman had been smoking onto her skirt so she'd light up into fiery flames of hell. _Is that how Christian is feeling over the news of what happened with Jose when I was younger? Does he feel murderous right now?_

It's probably twisted of me, but my insides light up with thrilling satisfaction. I reach out, grabbing my glass, taking in a small sip of wine, fully savoring the taste right now. It's like how in movies, people need a cigarette after some heated sexy time. I'm indulging fully in the taste of the wine now, my senses awakened due to him feeling threatened, possessive, jealous, _over me_.

"Christian, like I said, it was a long time ago. I didn't even remember until Kate reminded me just then."

"I don't care," he mutters, still avoiding my gaze. _Goodness gracious me, he's so angry. And he looks rather delicious when angry too._ Crossing his arms over his chest, he at last meets my gaze again, something furious and frosty shining in his eyes. "Am I green right now?"

"What?" Green? What is that supposed to mean? "Are you green?"

"My skin. Do I look green?"

"No, but you do sort of look... flushed and a bit sweaty?" Green? Why would he ask that? Unless he feels ill from the beef? Oh, no.

"Well, that's how I feel I look right now, Anastasia." Leaning towards me, he puts his mouth near my earlobe, my cheek. "Green. Infuriatingly mad," he hisses in my ear, his voice tremulous. "Like the Hulk ready to tear off his shirt and viciously slay and crush some fuckers that get in my way."

 _Mm, tear off his shirt._

I lick my lips, my eyes widening at his words. That malicious thrill darts through me again. Wow, he really is mad! It's so flattering and hot that he feels that way!

"Playing the whispering game, are you?" Kate suddenly interrupts us, and when Christian leans back, we both realize everyone at the table is basically watching us. _Oops._

"Anastasia was just telling me that she's feeling a little ill," Christian fills them in seamlessly, lying. God, he's good.

"Oh no," Grace says sympathetically. "I hope it isn't the awful beef?"

"Of course not, Mother. The beef was delicious," Christian assures her with a tight smile, though I can sense and feel that Hulkish rage still brewing there. "Ana has her period, so she's feeling a little... crampy. You don't mind if we call it a night now, do you?"

I stare at Christian, my mouth hanging open in outrage. _Oh, great. So he makes up an excuse that I'm feeling crampy due to my period?_

"Oh, no," Grace says again. "You know, Ana, that's why I constantly thank God for being menopausal now. I used to have the worst PMS, didn't I, Carrick, honey?"

"Oh, the worst," Carrick agrees vehemently. "Total mood changes. Happy one minute, teary and filled with rage the next."

"Of course, we understand if you need to go," Grace says kindly. "We also have some painkillers in the kitchen cabinet if its getting too-"

"- Ana will be fine," Christian interjects, standing. He holds his hand out to me. "Come." I don't take it.

Instead, I stand, ignoring his hand as I thank Carrick and Grace for having me over for dinner. Carrick hugs me, surprising me. Grace kisses my cheek affectionately- and I can tell we are so going to be such a happy, great in-law family once Christian and I marry. Hopefully he proposes to me sooner than later. I mean, I already passed up my V-Card. It's about time Christian compromises too, and I'm ready to be his devoted wife.

Lastly, Kate rises from her chair after I shake Elliot's hand. "You better tell me all the juicy gossip later tonight," she warns in my ear before releasing me.

Once we get out the front door, I still refuse to take Christian's hand. I am so not happy with him using me as a scapegoat just so that he can leave early.

"Anastasia, stop." He grabs my forearm, holding me still. "Are you mad at me?" He sounds so innocent, so child-like. It's like he doesn't even know he did anything wrong.

"Yes, I am mad at you," I fume at him. "You told your parents that I was suffering from really bad menstrual cramps just so we could leave early! And I don't even have my monthly flow right now, Christian!"

"I didn't know what else to say."

"How about not bringing my monthly flow into it as an excuse to leave then?"

I jerk my arm, getting it free from his grasp. Christian sighs loudly in frustration, bringing up a hand to rake his fingers through his hair.

"Ana, I'm sorry that I used your menstrual cycle as an excuse to leave," he says, but he doesn't sound very sincere. "But it was either that or going bat shit crazy in front of my family."

"Bat shit crazy?" I raise my brows at him. "Um, I think its safe to say that ship has already long since sailed for the both of us, wouldn't you?"

 _At least he still has somewhat of a sense of humor right now._ He gets my joke, enough to smile and loosen up a little at the very least. "I couldn't stay in there and sit there any minute longer," he says, his voice tight.

"And why not?" I wonder out loud.

"You already know why." He fishes his keys out of his trouser pocket, wandering towards his car. "Come. I'll drop you off home."

"Oh, right," I huff. "The Hulk after hearing about Jose."

He unlocks the car, and I climb in, sinking into the spacious leather seat. As Christian climbs in, readjusting the mirrors and locking both doors because he's paranoid I'll roll out of the moving car on crazy impulse, he switches on the ignition and reverses down the driveway. My inner Gollum is whispering to me while Christian starts driving. _Master is angry. Master is jealous. Oh, my precious._

"Tonight was great, anyway," I mutter, trying to break the silence between us. "Your parents were so lovely and inviting. I feel a bit burpy from the beef, though."

I try to judge Christian's expression as I look at him while he stares outside the window ahead of us. His hands tighten over the steering wheel. "Likewise, Anastasia." He sighs loudly, and I can tell he's still trying to get over his anger at Jose. "Tonight was... surprisingly great and, yes, I feel rather... burpy as well."

And then that's it.

The rest of the drive is spent in awkward silence while I try my hardest not to burp in front of him. It's excruciating. Just to break the silence in case I do end up burping, I switch on his stereo. A track that sounds as though its from the eighties, with clashing symbols and a male and female singing plays. I'm surprised. I honestly didn't think Christian would like this type of music. Then again, that's my dream man for you. Full of surprises.

I listen closely to the music as a woman starts singing. It's bizarre, how aptly she sums up my feelings for Christian.

 _I will have you , Yes, I will have you , I will find a way and I will have you. Like a butterfly, A wild butterfly, I will collect you and capture you..._

"What is this song?" I ask in bewilderment when the chorus starts. _(You are an obsession, You're my obsession. Who do you want me to be, To make you sleep with me?)_

"It's Obsession by Animotion," Christian explains, turning to look at me briefly. There's something there in his expression, his voice. Cautiousness? Why?

"For some reason, I never pegged you for an eighties pop music liker," I mutter.

"Well, my tastes in music are very eclectic, Anastasia."

As the song ends, the next song plays. This is a familiar one I've heard before. Creep by Radiohead.

"I like this song," I explain to him.

"Yes, I like all of these songs, Anastasia. As I said, I have very eclectic tastes."

"I'm noticing."

"They remind me of someone," he says, and then he hesitates. He looks abashed, filled with shame, I think. "The lyrics. They've very... on-point."

 _Hmm, they remind him of someone? Who? Me, hopefully?_

I cannot resist. I need to know. "So who do they remind you of exactly?" _Please say me, please say me. It better be me._

Another song comes on, more rockish. The man has a guttural voice. The lyrics are rather disturbing on this one. Sexy disturbing. _(No one knows my name, where I come from, no one sees my face, sees me coming. You can never hide, if I want you. You can't even try, keep from crying..)_

"Stalker Song," Christian tells me. "By Danzig. These lyrics are... extremely on-point as well."

God, I really hope he's hinting to me. I'll die if he isn't.

By the time we reach my apartment, he still hasn't told me who the songs remind him of. The Mega-Beast, maybe? I hope not. He pulls up on the street, turning to look at me. I wonder if I can persuade him to come inside.

"Would you like to come in?" I ask, unbuckling my seat belt. "I can make you a coffee or a... a green smoothie?"

He smiles at the _green smoothie thing_ , inspecting my face with his eyes.

The thought of him leaving, the thought of him saying no, it makes me feel panicked. Now I think I know first hand how Alex Forrest feels when Dan gets dressed about to leave after their one night stand. How desperate she was, how lonely, love-sick. I can relate to her so much, in such terrible, disconcerting ways.

"Much as a green smoothie appeals to me right now, I can't, Anastasia," he says slowly, regretfully. "I have some work to do. I have an early breakfast meeting tomorrow."

 _Damn it. Damn, damn, damn._

I try to hide my disappointment, even although there's this heavy, horrible pain in my chest. "That's fine, I understand. You're busy, of course. And I'm busy tomorrow..." I start rambling, my inner Gollum writhing in pain. "I have a shift at work. And I have Hardware to sell. And I really need to burp, so it's probably best you aren't there in the apartment with me right now, otherwise-"

My words are cut off when Christian grabs a fistful of my hair, leaning in. His lips collide with mine, urgently, passionately. I try to meet him back, just as enthusiastically, a lustful moan escaping me. He is such a good kisser and its as if his lips were created for mine. His lips belong on me, on my lips, my body. _Everywhere, yum._ He tries to run his fingers through my hair somewhat tenderly, but there ends up being a tangle in the end of it and it's painful. I make a noise against his mouth-though less lusty and more pained this time- when his fingers get caught in the knot, and immediately, he pulls away, trying to get his fingers free while breathing and gasping like a man trapped down in an inescapable sewer. I laugh to myself, because it's like even my hair doesn't want him to go. The knot in the strands are ensnaring his fingers, seizing onto him.

 _You can never leave me,_ I imagine those strands wailing in a weird, gaspy chain-smokers voice while Christian gently tries to get his fingers free so it won't hurt me. _Your fingers are mine so you can never leave!_

Jesus. I have serious mental problems.

"When will I see you again?" I ask desperately, wincing when he tugs a little.

"Very soon." He's too focused, too concentrated on working the knot out.

I remember his mother's words tonight, about how we're so alike, that we're perfect together. Her saying that, it was like a song, a heavenly choir. "Your Mother said we were perfect together, that we're a match made in heaven." I'm breathless, gushing.

"Believe me, Anastasia, I'm well aware that she did," he mutters, concentrating on weaving his fingers free. "I'm definitely not deaf." _Hmm, so he doesn't reinstate what she said._ My stomach churns. _Does he not feel we are perfect together?_

We haven't exactly DTR'd yet (as in Defined The Relationship). He did announce himself as my boyfriend to Ray, as I did tonight when introducing myself to his parents as his girlfriend. But we haven't exactly spoken about it properly. Are we dating or what? Or should I just privately keep thinking of him as my husband?

Once he finally does get his fingers free, he leans in to kiss me once more, only he doesn't bother with his hand in my hair again, just in case. But that's what happens when you go a full day without brushing your hair. The strands tend to get all knotty. Well, mine does, anyway.

I feel a burp threatening to come, that revealing bubble in my lungs, rising up my throat. Quickly, I climb out of his car, because there is no way I am burping in front of him. _Damn that overcooked beef!_

* * *

When I wake the next morning to head into work for my shift at Clayton's, I get a very nice surprise when I check my phone to discover I have three texts from Christian, all sent at one minute intervals. I grin to myself as I click the oldest one open first:

 _Was just getting changed into a shirt this morning and the marks on my back and on my stomach made me think of you ;)_

Next one, sent one minute later:

 _Couldn't resist taking along a pair of your unwashed panties to my breakfast meeting. On my way there now while Taylor drives me. Got them concealed in my pocket ready for when I need to excuse myself to the nearest restroom for that extra bit of courage. Miss Steele, what are you doing to me?_

My grin gets even bigger at that one. I laugh and bite my lip, feeling all tingly just imagining him riding in the backseat of a car, fiddling with my panties. How deliciously hot!

Next final one, sent barely thirty seconds ago:

 _You. I was too ashamed to tell you last night out of fear for your reaction but all the lyrics of the songs remind me of you, Anastasia. It's what you've reduced me to._

Holy fuck. Holy balls of Satan!

I gasp, cupping a hand over my mouth, almost bouncing on my bed in glee. The lyrics remind him of me! The _your my obsession, I'm a creep, wish I was special_ lyrics remind Christian of me! How romantic, how so very sweet. And taking my underwear with him to his breakfast meeting! He's so adorable!

I'm in a crazily joyful mood as I get into work. It must be the Christian Grey effect. I don't even get annoyed when Paul Clayton asks me to cart some heavy boxes out back in the storeroom. Everything is so great this morning, and it's all because Christian Grey texted me and told me that not only do those songs make him think of me, but that he also took my underwear with him to sniff when he feels he needs a bit of courage. I cannot get over it and my mind fails to let me.

Suddenly, all because of Christian's texts, the world is all rainbows and puppies and beautiful sunshine and sprinkles. I know that probably sounds overly dramatic, but its just how I feel. Nothing or no one can get me down today.

Even Paul notices my mood change this morning. "You seem happy today, Ana?" he says with suspicion.

"Do I?" I try to play dumb, even although I'm grinning from ear to ear.

"Yeah, you do. What's up?"

"None of your business," I say to him sweetly, then I go out from the stock room, helping a few customers.

I don't even get snappy when this one very indecisive elderly woman can't make up her mind on which flogger to use for her toilet. She's having plumbing problems and her toilets blocked.

"I recommend this one if its badly blocked," I explain to her, pointing to a twelve inch one. "Not only will it fit more into the toilet pipes, but it will push everything that's blocking it down."

She bites her lip, still indecisive while mumbling to her handbag. _God, how hard can it be?_

 _Puppies and rainbows,_ I remind myself. _Everything is good in the world. Even if I have to deal with an elderly woman with a clogged toilet._

But once I'm successful in talking her into it, things get easier. We walk to the register together while I bag up her flogger and wish her all the best with her clogged toilet. That's when I notice the car outside while scanning her credit card. There's a car parked outside, and a man's sitting in it. It's one of those fancy new silver models.

A guy is just sitting in there, tinted window rolled all the way down while he holds something up to his eyes. Are they doing what I think they are? My heart seems to skip a beat as I move closer to the window, trying to see them better. I think the guy is definitely looking in. He holds a camera up to his eyes as he takes several snaps in the Hardware store.

"Thank you, dear," the elderly woman says, startling me.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I gasp, laughing awkwardly as I pass her back her credit card. I almost forgot she was there; I was too distracted wondering why some guy is taking pictures of Clayton's. Unless it's part of a merchandise thing they have going on here? Taking pictures of the building? "Good luck with your toilet."

"Oh, yes," the elderly woman laughs. "Hopefully it works. Now my granddaughter will learn not to shove tampons in there ever again!"

"Um, okay!" I wave and smile at her enthusiastically as she exits the store.

Licking my lips, I glance out towards the car again, though trying to be discreet. They hold the camera up to their eyes again, taking in another shot. What? Are they taking pictures of me or something?

"Hey, Paul?" I call nervously. When he doesn't hear me, I call again. "Paul?"

"Yo, Ana." He appears from out back. "What's up? You need help bagging something?"

"No, but did you or your mother hire a photographer to take snaps of the building or something?"

He frowns. "No, why?"

"Because there is a guy outside in his car taking shots?" We both look out the window together. "Unless he's just some weird McCreeper that gets off on taking pictures of random unsuspecting people?"

 _Hmm_. The guy suddenly puts his camera down and starts the car. _Did we scare him off or something?_ As the car starts to move, I notice he peers in at me through the window before he heads out of the lot. Although I can't see much, the guy seems almost Christian's age, I'd say. Rather good-looking from what I could tell. _How strange._

"Think we scared him off by both of us looking?" I ask Paul, a little spooked.

"Don't know. Maybe."

It's so strange, but I seem to forget about it.

When my lunch break comes, I head out of the store, walking across the street to the small grocery store that's there. I buy two bananas and a bottle of water, only because I still feel a little weird after last night and the beef Christian's Mother Grace overcooked. Hope I don't get some sort of infection.

Buying my water and my bananas, I head back out, crossing the street. Usually, on my lunch breaks, I like to sit outside and soak up some sun while eating. I find my spot where I like to sit, and crouch down by the wall, peeling my banana while sitting my bottle of water beside me, my other banana in my lap. I'm just about to cram a huge mouthful in when I notice him again.

 _Oh, my God. What is going on?_

That same old silver car is there, only it's parked across the road this time. The window is rolled down, that guy in there again. As I pretend to focus on eating my banana, I surreptitiously look his way again. _Yeah, I am so not being paranoid_. He's a Creepy Creeper alright. A Peeping Tom. He has that camera up to his face again. I think he's taking shots of me. But what the hell for? How weird.

 _Let's make it a little more exciting for him then, poor guy._

Wickedly, an idea comes to me. Instead of just cramming that banana right in there, I giggle silently to myself while holding it up to my mouth. Opening my mouth, I pretend its _something else_ , moving my mouth up and down over the banana head.

Then I bring out my tongue, swirling it around the head of the banana before I decide I'm too hungry and then I drop the act. A giggle snort leaving me, I finally chomp on the banana, chewing while glancing off near the guy's direction again. Surely enough, that camera is going wild, lapping up my little game.

I can almost hear it. _Snap, snap, snap_. Heck, I've probably aroused the guy with my banana fellatio.

It's pretty sad, but its my excitement for the morning while at work. Once done, I try to meet the guy's gaze as I step towards the trash can, throwing my banana peels inside.

 _Caught you,_ I try to say, holding his gaze boldly. _You perve. Hope you enjoyed the show?_

 **CPOV:**

Yawn.

Business meetings.

After a pleasant breakfast meeting, I had to attend to another boring fucking meeting at the office. I suppose this is what happens when you're the big boss. Still, I'd love to excuse myself for even five fucking seconds so I could get a whiff of Anastasia's panties again.

I need to remind myself of what she smells like. I need a refresher. I _need_ it.

Everyone around me is just a faint murmur of dull voices. I pretend I'm listening, nodding along, and then my laptop jings. Email. It's probably from Sawyer.

"Oh, I couldn't agree more," I murmur, just so the clients know I'm listening. Which I'm not.

And indeed, my email is from Sawyer. I lean across my desk, double-clicking on the email, finding the attachment he sent me.

"Yes, I understand," I mutter distractedly to the client whose name I cannot even fucking remember right now. It's how good Anastasia's got me.

It takes a moment for the attachment to load, but when it does, coming large on my screen...

 _What the fuck? Motherfuck!_

I have to lean my elbow on the table, covering my mouth, stroking my lips as I try not to smile when I glance back at the clients surrounding me. It's so hard to act normal. My head is whirling. I feel my throat tighten, a wave of heat rushing over me. Suddenly it's too hot in here, in my office. Even with the air conditioner on, it's absolutely stifling.

I let my eyes dart to the picture of my screen again, the way she sits there against the wall, holding that peeled banana up to her mouth. My throat tickles as a grunt threatens to leave me. My trousers feel tighter, particularly against the groin. Blood rushes, certain things swell. It's like she's mouth-fucking that thing. Now I know what it feels like to want to be a banana so badly.

At least she isn't with another man like that fucker Jose Rodriguez. It's my main concern. I need reassurances of fidelity, that she knows who she belongs to. But fuck, a banana?

She's being unfaithful with a banana?

"Sir, did you even-"

Fuck. Slamming my laptop down, I try to focus. I need to get my shit together. Besides, I can come back to that picture later once everyone's dismissed from the meeting.

And there is also a _little something else_ I will need to attend to while looking at that picture. But I can always attend to that afterwards, so long as these bastards in here don't expect me to stand from my desk.

After all, I'm all for delayed gratification. Even if it comes to me relieving myself.

Jesus, though. A banana? I shake my head infinitesimally. I feel envious over a fucking banana, when the only banana she needs is mine. Really, what is she doing to me, the little naughty vixen?

 **As usual its silly, but I hope I made you guys laugh some. Thank you so much for being so lovely in your reviews! There will be some drama soon; When Ana finds out the extent of Christian's Anabilia (the canvases decorating a room in his house, etc), certain things happening, Christian revealing his past and Ana revealing hers too. If you have anything you would like to happen, as usual I would love to know. I appreciate your thoughts so much!**


	23. Chapter 23

_**Chapter 23**_

When I get home from work, I open the front door, finding our apartment littered with clothes. Jackets are strewn on the floor, belonging to Kate. Skirts. I'm almost expecting to find her and Elliot in an uncompromising position together on the couch, only when I call Kate's name, she suddenly walks out of her bedroom, huffing sadly. She's all dressed up in sheer black leggings and a tight black dress.

"Hey," she says, running her hands around her cleavage. "Question: Does this dress make my ass look too round?"

She turns on the side, cupping her backside self-consciously. Nope, apparently my brother-in-law isn't here. This is just Kate having her usual womanly insecure moment.

"Um, no. Your butt looks fine, Kate." I frown at her, perplexed. "Why?"

"Elliot asked me out to the movies, but... is this too much?"

"Nope, you look great."

"I really don't know about this one." She eyes me doubtfully. "I feel a bit bloated?"

"You don't look bloated at all, Kate. So things are pretty serious then?"

"Well, you heard me at the dinner last night. Elliot asked me out." She smiles at me, but she doesn't look all that happy right now. She runs her fingers down the dress again. "You sure I don't look like a chunky monkey?"

"Kate," I growl, rolling my eyes. Chunky monkey is the very last thing I would describe her as. She looks gorgeous with her blonde hair flowing freely down her shoulders, and her blue eyes. "You look great. Really."

Finally, Kate seems to get past her insecure moment. She shrugs. "So," she begins meaningfully.

"So what, Kate?"

"How was work?"

"Weird," I mutter, still thinking of today. That weird guy in his car. "This guy was taking pictures of me. Or well, it felt like he was."

"Seriously? How fucking creepy, Ana? You must have been scared?"

"Not really," I mutter, then I giggle to myself, thinking of what I did. "I made it worth his while."

Kate eyes me suspiciously. "What do you mean, 'you made it worth his while'?"

I laugh again. "I molested a banana with my mouth."

"You what?" Kate doesn't know whether to laugh or whether to get annoyed with me. Bu she's used to me. I'm crazy like that. "You molested a banana?"

"Yep, I did. And funny thing was, he went snap happy while I did."

"God, Ana." She wakes her head, her eyes widening. "Sometimes I really don't get you. I would have been truly freaked out, not... laughing over it like you seem to be?"

"Well, I guess I can appreciate and find the humor in any freaky situation."

Kate watches me, then follows me slowly as I head into our kitchen. She's giving me her signature Are-You-Crazy look. "So, you never did tell me what's going on with you and Grey?"

Oh, here we go. "I don't even know what's going on between us, Kate. We haven't really talked about being a couple yet." Our conversations mostly consist of us joking about being serial killers, his panty-sniffing addiction and... that's about it.

"Well, you two certainly looked close last night at his parents dinner?"

I still haven't told her about our sexy time love-making just yet. I know she will be so happy for me. "Well, I surrendered my V-Card over to him," I inform her gleefully, while opening the fridge, checking what's inside to eat.

"You _what_?" Her voice shakes with excitement.

"I am pleased to inform you that I am no longer a virgin, Kate." I am practically bouncing on my toes, gyrating. "My dream man, my future husband, Christian Grey, deflowered me two nights ago. And what an _amazing_ deflowering session it was..."

"Are you serious?" I'm rather offended by how disbelieving Kate looks. Why look disbelieving? _Of course_ he deflowered me. We're destined to be together, after all.

"Yes, I'm serious, Kate. I am no longer a virgin."

"Holy fuck." It takes Kate a moment to get over the shock. Then once it settles in, she becomes noticeably more excited herself. "I wondered what was up at the dinner. You two were looking at each other with Eat-Me eyes. Huh. So that's why."

I sigh longingly. _Eat-Me eyes? Oh, I wish!_

"Well, anyway," Kate says slowly, gathering herself. "I'm off. Elliot said he'd meet me there." She grabs one of her leather handbags, throwing it over her shoulder as she scrutinizes me with a mixture of sympathy and worry. _Why does she look so concerned for me? Everything is great!_ "You gonna be okay alone? If you want to, you can always come along with me? I mean, I'm sure Elliot wouldn't mind?"

"Kate, I am so not tagging along with you to the movies to be the third wheel. Besides, I'm thinking of getting changed and taking a bath. I'll be fine."

"Well, text me if you need anything. Okay?" _God, it's like I'm a five-year-old, incapable of looking after herself. Does she forget my wicked knife skills and defensive ninja moves?_

"Kate, just go. I'll be perfectly fine on my own."

"Okay." Convinced, she walks slowly to the front door, adjusting her bag strap. "Laters."

"Have fun with Boo-Boo Face," I tease, remembering the ridiculous, excessively gross baby names Elliot and her had for each other.

Kate flushes and flips me the bird, mouthing, "Fuck off". Then she leaves.

Silence fills the apartment so brutally, one rather depressing. But I know I'll be fine. Just for something to do and distract me, I start picking up the clothes Kate chucked on the floor like breadcrumbs trailing to her bedroom, folding them up neatly. God, she is so messy sometimes.

I end up putting her clothes back in her wardrobe neatly, then I so-happen to notice how messy and unmade her bed is. I'm like a weird Momma-Bear, going around her room, making her bed and picking up crap that's littered on her floor. Guess this is what happens when you're home alone and bored. You become someone's maid.

I wonder what Christian is doing right now. Does he miss me? I hope he isn't with that Mega-Beast or any other woman in general. Aside from his Mother Grace, of course. He is only allowed to spend time with Grace, because she is so lovely and she's his mother.

Bored out of my brains, I head into the kitchen, finding my Grey Enterprises Holdings logo mug while switching on the kettle. Might as well make myself a nice soothing cup of tea. As my stepfather Ray likes to say, tea solves all of the universes problems. _Especially_ womanly problems like PMS and gas.

 _Crap-sticks, I am so bored! What to do?_

Ordinarily, before I met the man of my dreams, I would stay up late, pulling long hours, Googling everything I could about him. Now that we're sort-of together, is it still okay if I Google him?

While waiting for the kettle to finish, I turn on the laptop, carrying it into the living room with me while finding the remote to switch on our TV. Entertainment Tonight's on, and I drift off for a few minutes, listening about Brangelina and their relationship woes while I wait for the laptop to load. Then I hear the kettle go off, so I rush back into the kitchen to fill my mug up and let my teabag sit.

I'm just bringing my steaming hot mug back into the living room when something on ET catches my eye. They are talking about some actor- an upcoming interview with him. The instance I see his face, I feel all the blood rush out of my body. I even almost spray tea all over the place.

 _Holy hairy balls. He looks so much like Christian! They could be twins!_

Only this actor is Irish and his hair is shaved and he has a beard. But wow!

Then I recall at my graduation ceremony, the two girls words when they were sitting in front of me, perving on MY man. One of them said he looks like this actor, Dornan. And this actor's last name so happens to be Dornan. He must be who they were speaking about Christian resembling and hell yes, he _so_ looks like Christian, it's freaky!

Only Christian's hotter, I think. I mean, I gave that man my V-Card. I think that automatically makes Christian hotter.

Speaking of Christian... I kind of want to text him. I really hope he isn't with that Mega-Beast. My inner Gollum wants a reenactment of Return of The King. Christian is the ring, the precious, while Mega-Beast is Frodo in the last showdown. Things got messy. Frodo lost some fingers.

The interview comes on, and I'm glued to the screen watching this actor guy. He _so_ does look like Christian, aside from the accent. They could be identical twins, switched at birth.

I just cannot resist. I have to do it.

Finding Christian's number under its usual name, 'HUSBAND' in my phone, I type a text:

 _Watching ET. One word. Jamie Dornan._  
 _Actually, that's two. Got some competition in the looks department right there, Mr Grey. Anyway, it was nice knowing you while it lasted. Gotta go find my Jamie now. *insert devil face emoticon* Bye bye._

I hit send, giggling maliciously. Then I have to hug myself, because I find it was too funny, probably way more funner than it should be. Gah, I crack myself up sometimes. My inner Gollum is cackling too.

 _ **CPOV:**_

I've just finished work when my phone goes off. I grin to myself when I discover it's a text from Anastasia. I was wondering when she would text or call.

I click open with my thumb, reading.

 _Watching ET. One word. Jamie Dornan._  
 _Actually, that's two. Got some competition in the looks department right there, Mr Grey. Anyway, it was nice knowing you while it lasted. Gotta go find my Jamie now. Bye bye._

What the fucking fuck?

The blood leeches out of my face as I squint down at the message, rereading it two more times. The devil face she's even put in the message seems to laugh at me, teasing me, taunting me. What the fuck does she mean, _it was nice knowing me while it lasted_? And who is this Dornan guy? Motherfuck!

It's what happened at my parents with her friend mentioning the Rodriguez Douche-bag all over again. My hand actually trembles when I open up Google Images, writing this fucker's name is. About an entire page of this fucker's face comes up and, yeah, I suppose Anastasia's right. He _certainly does_ look like me.

But what the fuck? Why is she saying goodbye to me?

Here I was, fretting all day, being jealous over a banana from the pictures Sawyer sent me while following her. I was jealous over the wrong thing, all along. Now not only do I have a banana to contend with, but this... this actor douche?

My mind made up, I shove my phone back into my pocket.

 _So it's goodbye now, is it? We'll see about that. Like I'll ever let her slip away that easily._

 **APOV:**

I check my phone at one minute intervals, still giggling. And he hasn't replied. _Oops, did I maybe go too far?_ He knew I was mainly joking, right? Especially about saying goodbye? Like he'd get rid of me that easily. No, I'm clinging on tight with the octopus limbs, and I'm never letting him go. Shit, now I'm really worried, though. What if he's all too happy to be said farewell to?

I wait, and I wait... biting my lip anxiously while ET finishes up, the TV mere background noise. Then I start Googling, writing random things.

 _Christian Grey Dornan brothers._

 _Dornan Christian Grey lookalike._

 _Dornan naked._

 _Christian Grey naked._ (I've searched this phrase about a billion times, and still, I never tire of it. I almost drool at the multiple images of him modeling for menswear.)

Still, it's not enough distraction and perving to ease the fear settling into my belly. I head back into the kitchen, rinsing out my cup now that I've finished. I shut off the tap, laying my Grey Holdings logo mug down in the sink. That's when I hear it.

An odd thumping noise, like a window opening. It definitely wasn't the TV. I think it came from in the direction of my bedroom?

My heart is thumping in my chest, my eyes wide, as I reach out, instinctively grabbing the sharpest kitchen knife Kate and I own. I feel like I'm the main heroine in a horror movie all of a sudden. There's a murderer in my house and I'm braced and ready to go all out, ninja skill Khaleesi on their butts.

"Who's there?" I croak out, and then I hit myself mentally in the face. God, can I be anymore cliche? As if the murderer is going to respond, yelling back, _"Yo, I'm here to murder you! I'm in your bedroom, lady! Why don't you come and play?"_

Tightening my fingers over the knife handle, I start inching towards the bedrooms. My head is going crazy. Why is this happening? Who's in the house? _Please write back, Christian. I didn't mean what I said! I love you, and I'll never leave you! Can't you see that?_

I don't know why but I immediately sneak towards my bedroom. I catch a movement near my bed, and I look that way. A man is standing near my bed, a black hoodie pulled over his head, wearing all black. I catch those familiar blue latex gloves on his hands as he delves his right hand into his pocket, and it occurs to me who it is then. I'm almost expecting him to pull out a blade, but it's only one of his long business ties.

My entire body relaxes as a hoarse giggle escapes my mouth. _Oh, thank God. It's just Christian doing his breaking-into-my-bedroom-through-the-window routine again!_

"Christian?" I squeak out, relieved. "Christian, what... what are you doing here? Um, why did you-?" I falter, breathing deeply. _Why do I have to stumble over my words right now?_

He doesn't answer as he lifts both hands while he keeps that tie curled into a fist. He shoves off his hood and I see him completely then. The shape of his precious head, his hair, his face. _Yep, it's just Christian._ I should be utterly freaked out by this, yet I find it so thrilling. Hot. Exciting.

"Good evening, Anastasia," he finally speaks, something there in his voice. He takes a slow step around the bed towards me, and he grips both ends of the tie in his hands, pulling tight, stretching the taunt fabric. "So... it was nice knowing me while it lasted, was it?"

He sounds so dangerous, so menacing. He's clearly not happy about my playful message. It's such a turn-on.

"And I also have some competition in the looks department, it seems?"

Eyes still on him as he wanders slowly closer and closer towards me, like a wild animal, a killer, I loosen my hand over the handle, moving to place the sharp knife against my bookshelf, sitting it on top of some of my books. I refuse to let myself look away even for a second.

He looks so hot, and the way he is speaking! So menacing, so darkly seductive. And the way he's dressed too, with that hood covering his face momentarily! The latex gloves, the tie! All the dark clothes and the way he effortlessly pulled my bedroom window up to get his way inside again!

 _If Kate stumbled upon the both of us, she'd definitely consider us coo-coo-crazy._

"Christian, what... why are you here?" There, I can play. I can act convincing victim.

I'm breathing heavily, I'm that entranced by our little game.

"Why am I here, you ask?" Finally, he reaches me, standing right in front of me. His gray eyes are alight with something dangerous, something sensual. His lips are slightly parted as he breathes heavily, watching my every move, scrutinizing my face meticulously. He plays with that tie, wrapping it around his latex-glove covered fingers as he studies me. The predator look definitely suits him well. _Yum_. "Maybe I'm here to show you who the better man is? I'm working on eliminating the other competition. What do you say about that, Miss Steele?"

Within the blink of an eye, startling me, he lashes out.

Somehow, and I don't even know how he could even move so fast, he's pushing me and I am bouncing backwards onto my mattress, completely unprepared. And then just as suddenly, he's astride me with both legs on each side of me, pinning me down deliciously, making the mattress depress with both of our added weight.

I giggle snort when he grabs both of my wrists in one hand, and then he uses his tie, tying me up tightly. We're both breathing heavily, just as aroused as each other by the game when he lifts my arms up over my head. He ends up tying both my wrists to the headboard, _extremely serial killer_ , and when I try to get free with my wrists, it's impossible. My skin only chafes against the fabric and my arms begin to ache by how tight he's secured them to the headboard.

Swallowing loudly and trying to calm down, I peer up at him, wide-eyed. He reaches over, checking the tie himself, making sure it's completely secure, which it is, of course. _Unfortunately I'm not going anywhere. I'm an completely tied up and powerless to him, just how it should be. And neither is he going anywhere. Well, he better not._

Still astride me with his legs, holding me down, Christian busies himself in yanking off the latex gloves. He tosses them somewhere on the floor near my bed carelessly, then he starts unzipping his hooded jacket. I try to wiggle with my legs impatiently, hoping to unseat him, as he tosses his jacket down on the floor, too. He's wearing a tight black T-shirt that clings to him. _Hmm, black again. I'm sensing a theme, here?_

"How does it feel, hmm?" he asks me, his voice strained, breathless. I can tell this is just as good for him as it is for me. "How does it feel to know you are completely alone, helpless, and trapped beneath me?"

I don't bother hiding it. "Good," I admit with a flustered giggle. "You were like a serial killer, breaking in through my bedroom window, and now, here I am, completely at your mercy."

 _God, I am so aroused, even as his victim. Is this normal?_

"I do hope you don't do this very often, Mr Grey," I mutter, licking my lips to moisten them. "I hope you haven't done this to all the girls you've met, in breaking into their bedrooms and tying them down to headboards?" My inner Alex Forrest will lash out vindictively if I find out he has.

"Of course not," he mutters, relieving me. "Your the only one I've done this to before. Especially the breaking and entering part. It's what you do to me." I gasp uncontrollably when he moves, standing up on his knees, the glorious weight of him leaving me. "There's something about you..." He starts shifting back down my legs, leaving me. My body mourns the restrictive loss of his weight on me, holding me down. "Something about you that makes me lose my mind completely."

 _There's something about me that makes him lose his mind?_

"Right back at you, Mr Grey."

When he gets down to the end of my bed, sliding off to his feet, I kick angrily against the mattress with my ankles. It's so unfair. I'm Rose in Titanic again, pleading. _Come back. Please, come back._

"You keep up with that kicking, Anastasia, and I'll tie up your feet as well," he whispers, a dangerous threat. _Oh, yum._ The idea of being completely, helplessly tied up, unable to move, at his mercy... Where do I sign up? I kick again with my feet, just for the sake of it, and cursing beneath his breath, he grabs both my feet in his hands, leaning down, resting all his weight on my shins so I cannot move a bit. It hurts a little, but in a good way. His breathing is rapid, ragged, as he meets my gaze. "Is that what you want? You want me to tie your feet up too, hmm?"

"I don't care what you do," I admit to him. "So as long as you do _anything_ to me."

His eyes widening with slight satisfaction at my words, he relinquishes his weight on me, only to grab one of my feet. _Oh no, my socks._ I start to panic when he peels them off effortlessly. I have smelly feet, and Kate often complains about it. I sweat a lot too, and I think that's why they get so smelly _. What if he notices?_

I stare down at him, watching his face anxiously as he catches my other foot, peeling that sock off too. It's impossible to know whether he caught onto the stench or not. Crap.

And then, stunning me, he grabs my pair of socks off the bed, pressing them together in both hands. Gaze on me, he brings both socks up to his nose, and he inhales in deeply, reverentially.

 _Holy crap. First my panties, now my day-old socks?_

 _Cheesus-Christ, it's so hot. How can it be so hot? My socks probably smell revolting, and yet he's sniffing them in? What?_

"See what you make me do, Anastasia?" Finished with the smell of my socks, he tosses them on the floor. "See what you've made me become?"

What I've made him become?

"What I've made you become?" I mutter playfully. "What? A pantie-sniffing, sock-inhaling monster, Christian?"

His serial-predator demeanor cracks at my breathless comment, and he stuffs up, laughing quietly in amusement. "A pantie-sniffing, sock-inhaling monster, indeed," he mutters in agreement, in deep thought. Inhaling in deeply through his mouth, he suddenly turns solemn again, full-predator. Meanly, he grabs my left foot, digging into my shin with his fingers, crushing, making a point. I squeal a little, my lady parts singing at his behavior. "Your mine. Do you understand?"

I am wiggling, helpless, when he finally releases my shin to unbutton my jeans. My shin aches by his bruising touch as he tears my jeans down my thighs, violently, rage-fully.

"Tell me," he demands. "Tell me you're mine."

"I'm yours, Christian," I say obediently.

Getting my trousers free, he chucks them on the floor, then just as viciously grabs the bottom of his shirt. He peels it off his body, off his head, tossing it near my trousers. His hair sticks up a little on his scalp from being caught around the neck of his shirt. _God, he looks so deliciously evil._

 _Mine, mine, mine._ God, those Finding Nemo seagulls are in my head again, chanting their choir.

Then he grabs my right foot between his hands again, lifts it up, and catches all my toes in his mouth.

"Ouch," I laugh out loud, hissing when he clenches down with all his teeth, nipping, biting. _Jesus. He's taking this really seriously._

Letting me jerk my foot free, he bends down with both hands between my thighs, and then he uses his mouth again. He grabs onto the back of my thighs, clenching hard with his fingers, gripping, as he starts moving slowly up my body, nipping, scraping with his teeth, his mouth. He's like the shark of Jaws, hungry for my meaty flesh, my blood.

Reaching my panties, he slides his hands up, then hooks his fingers beneath the band, wrenching them down. I wiggle nervously when he pulls my underwear free, and then, hardly surprising me, he does his favorite kinky thing, shoving them to his nose and mouth, breathing me in deeply as his eyes close. A hot throaty noise leaves him at the scent of my unwashed underwear, and then he tosses them aside to the floor, moving up my body more.

It's so hot, so kinky freaky. I cannot get enough of it. Do people do this all the time? Surely, they do.

He sits astride my thighs again, and then he pushes up the bottom of my shirt eagerly, going to town. Eyes on mine, dark and sexy, he bends down, kissing me around my stomach, stroking my skin with the tip of his nose, inhaling my flesh in. Then he slips his hands beneath the tight cups of my bra, stretching the fabric and yanking them up so my breasts get free.

Like he's hungry and at a buffet, he moans hotly in delight, and he grasps my breasts in both hands, squeezing. And then my view in unfairly obstructed by his head, his hair, as he bends down, but I feel him. Oh man, do I feel him. I'm all full of sensation.

Christian closes his mouth over one of my breasts, my nipple. It's so unexpected, so slippery and hot with his tongue licking my nipple, the heat of his mouth. He sucks, exerting pressure on my nipple like a baby desperate for his Momma. I arch against him uncontrollably with a gasp, my wrists chafing against the tie.

Then he switches to my other breast, leaving me feeling wet with saliva, tingling from his sucking. _Jesus, it's hot. Holy Cheese-balls, it feels so good_.

"Oh fudge cake," I cry out in pain, when he uses his teeth again, closing them around my nipple, clenching down gently. "Oh, Satan's grotesque balls."

It's really lucky Ray isn't here to hear me. He'd definitely wash my mouth out with soap. Kate, too. She'd probably ring the police, thinking I'm being assaulted. _That's how good Christian is._

He releases my nipple, and then I hear him panting over me. I think he's laughing? I've gotten him amused by my inventive swear-words.

He sits up to peer down at me, his eyes filled with pleasure. He's breathing just as loudly and laborious as I am. _God, I don't think I can take it anymore._

"I want you inside me now," I pant, and I'm like a filthy-mouthed greedy girl being possessed and taken over by a lustful demon, a la the Exorcist. "Just fucking doing it, Christian. No more games."

"No more?" he breathes, arching his eyebrows. I can tell he's pleased by my greediness, my impatience.

"Yes, no more. Just take me, you sick murderer!"

He takes pity on me, thank God. He stands, shoving down his black trousers, his boxers. Then he searches in his jean pocket, finding a foil packet. He tears it open with his teeth, watching me, his erection already saluting me. _Wow, he's hard already. Yay._

"Who's better?" he asks me as he rolls the condom on.

"What?" _What? Huh?_ "Who, Christian?"

"Me or him?"

 _Oh, he's hinting to that Dornan guy._ "Well, you're the only person I've been with thus far, Christian, so I wouldn't know. But I'd say you're effectively slaying the competition."

"So I'm effectively slaying the competition, am I?" He's pushing me, like he wants me to spell it all out for him and reassure him.

"Christian, there's _only you_." _God, if only he knew how much I mean that._ "There's only ever been you." _Hence why I've been obsessive over you for literally eight full months,_ I want to add, but then he might find that too creepy. "Just hurry up, Christian," I snap, going full on psycho.

"Impatient little thing, aren't you?" he teases, and yes, I am. No apologies there.

Finally. Finally, I get my wish.

He climbs on me, holding one hand to support himself up near my armpit when he uses his other hand to reach down between us, guiding himself in. I think we both groan at the same time in relief when he finally penetrates his way in, like his Little Christian has finally come home where he belongs.

"Fuck, you feel good," he grunts in appreciation, holding himself slightly up, his bare feet between my legs. "So wet. So warm."

Pushing up my pelvis, I reach up with my knees, curling my legs around him, digging my ankles into his gorgeous, firm backside. _You're mine, you are stuck to me_.

Resting his other hand near my armpit, we start to move, Christian thrusting his chin into my shoulder. Only, this is different from the first time. Obviously, I can't touch him because my arms are bound and held above my head, but it's less gentle. More primitive, more rougher, unrestrained.

The bed creaks as he moves back, my legs flexing around him, and then he pushes himself back in, pounding hard, rough. The pain is glorious. It feels good. I watch as he picks up speed, my eyes glued to his face, the way he grits his teeth, the moans of pleasure that echo mine.

"Mine," he growls through clenched teeth. "You are mine, do you understand? You belong me."

"I do," I breathe out, clenching my eyes shut.

I truly am at his mercy. While my arms are stuck, my head isn't it. I lift up, craning my neck even though it hurts. My chin brushes against his bare shoulder with every thrust, every savage move, and next thrust, I make sure I have my teeth bared and ready for him. I latch on to his shoulder, biting down, pulling at his skin, marking him.

Christian grunts loudly, pained yet aroused, and then it's my turn. He dips his head low as he thrusts into me again roughly, opening his mouth wide. He tongues my collar bone, then grits on with his teeth, clenching. I make a pained noise of my own, throwing my head back, my eyes stinging with tears.

We're like two vengeful animals, latching on, biting with our teeth.

I loosen my legs around his waist slowly, only to squeeze again, holding as tight as I possibly can, digging my ankles into his buttocks, hopefully creating pain.

Growling through his teeth like a dog in warning, Christian reaches up, twining his fingers through the side of my hair, pulling. I cry out again in agony and then he muffles it down by kissing me, hard.

We're so close, I can feel it.

Opening my mouth to him as that feeling grows and grows with each rough move, each vicious strike, he slips his tongue into my mouth, and I push my tongue out to meet his, stroking, battling. We are swallowing each other's groans, each other's cries. As he goes to stop kissing me, I catch his bottom lip between my teeth, tugging, pulling, before releasing it.

And then it happens.

Together, we stiffen, crying out. Christian shoves his hot forehead against mine as we both climax, Christian feeling the condom inside me. We're both shaking, sated, stinging from biting each other. I close my eyes, panting, drained as he remains inside me, recovering, his forehead against mine. Losing strength in my legs, I slowly peel them off his sticky back, letting them fall back on the mattress as he remains above me.

God, that was good. My arms are really achy though.

I'm so tired and relax, I can barely find the energy to laugh when Christian buries his nose in my fringe, Mr Thin Man again, sniffing my hair. Still breathing hard, he slowly pulls out of me, rolling onto his side on the bed, our bodies still touching.

"Oh, wow," I mutter, turning my head to look at him. "That was... wow."

He's just lying there, blinking up at his poster on the ceiling peacefully. I should feel embarrassed as I turn my head, staring directly at his poster as well. I cannot believe it doesn't bother him, the fact that I have him on my bedroom ceiling. My eyes drift to Christian again, the real Christian. He breathes out of his mouth, and then he mutters something to himself, shaking his head slightly before sitting up so that he doesn't have to look at his own poster anymore.

 _Oh, yeah. Now it's starting to bug him._

"Sorry if it's freaky," I whisper, not even having enough strength to raise my voice for him. "It must be, looking up to find your own face staring back at you."

"I don't find it creepy, Ana," he assures me, propping his head up on his elbow as he glances down at me, hands still tied to the headboard. "I just don't like looking at pictures of myself."

"Why not?" I ask in confusion. I just don't get that. "I know you said you don't like looking at yourself on the internet either, that you've never so much as even looked at your own Wikipedia page before. But why not?"

"I just don't."

A part of me gets the suspicion that he has a very low opinion of himself, that he has poor self-image problems. _But how could he? He's perfect!_

I feel an itch on my nose, and of course I can't scratch it, so I start awkwardly trying to wipe my nose on my armpit. God, when is he going to untie me? While rubbing my nose on my arm, I'm level to his chest and those marks there. I wonder what happened. Nothing has ever been said about them on the internet or in any articles. And trust me, I'd know.

"What happened to your chest?" I ask gently, while scrunching up my nose. The itch seems to go away, thank God.

"I had a rough childhood," he simply says with a sigh.

"Define rough?"

He stares down at me for a moment, his eyes roaming down my face, my exposed chest. I can feel my nips perk up, like they're greeting him. My nips are attention whores, desperate for a bit of his time.

"My mother..." He hesitates, returning his gaze to mine. He looks so serious, so serial killer straight-faced again. This must be something really hard for him to talk about. "My mother was... a crack whore."

"Grace?" I ask in shock. Surely not. Grace surely cannot be a crack whore. No way.

He smiles slightly at my words. Apparently I've amused him. "No, not Grace. Grace adopted me. She's the opposite of a crack whore- she's a... a life-saving angel. I don't know where I would have ended up if it hadn't been for her."

 _Oh, duh._ "Of course," I mutter, shaking my head at my own stupidity. "I already knew you were adopted. I should have known."

"My real mother. She was the crack whore. She was literally addicted to crack and would do anything to get her fix, even if it meant being a prostitute and whoring herself."

"I'm sorry," I whisper sympathetically. "If it helps, my mother is an incurable romantic. She's been married to nine men already, and you'd think after the first four she'd realize marriage is not for her, but no..." I'm rambling, trying to make him feel better. But I think he appreciates that I am. "She doesn't feel complete unless she has a husband."

"Guess we're both pretty fucked-up then, aren't we?"

I shrug, then wince, because it really hurts with my arms tied up. "Guess we are. But that doesn't properly explain how you-" With effort, I try to flop and rock my body sideways so I can stroke my nose against those marks on his chest. I give up after about three attempts. Nope, not happening.

"She had a pimp that would set her up with men. He was an asshole to her, and to me." He pauses, glancing down at my nips again briefly. "He would beat her and sometimes I would even be in the room when he did. He also beat me."

God, how horrible. I can't help wondering if this pimp is alive. I wish I could track him down for hurting Christian.

"He put..." He hesitates again, his breathing going harsher. Whatever it is, it's obviously difficult for him to say it. I hate that it is, with a vengeance. My poor Christian. "He put cigarettes out on me." He jerks his chin down towards those marks. "Those are what these are."

 _He put cigarettes out on his chest?_

"What a bastard," I spit out angrily. I can feel my entire body shaking.

"I still remember how it felt, how... painful it was." This is deep, what he is telling me. And I am so thankful that he is. I would never judge him nor do I think I could ever begin to feel badly about him. We belong together, and that's what unconditional love is. "The... the hissing of the cigarette on my skin." He licks his lips, his eyes narrow. "The pain." Blinking heavily, he forces himself to meet my eyes again. "My mother tried to stop him, tried to... to defend him, but that only caused him to be even more horrible to her."

"I'm so sorry," I whisper, even although words don't seem enough. "That's so horrible."

He shrugs, like it's no biggie. But it has to be a biggie. He's faking it. Brushing it off. "At the end of it, the crack whores dead. My mother." His voice is tight, aloof hatred there.

"Oh. How did she-"

"- She killed herself. He left us there in the room, and I suppose she couldn't take it anymore. The shame, how... pathetic she was. So she killed herself." He doesn't even sound sad, but then again, perhaps he's had a long time to come to terms with it? "She went into the bathroom and left me to watch cartoons on the TV. I never saw her come out of that bathroom again."

It kills me, how sad his start in life was. It shouldn't have been like that. He deserved a perfect start in life, because that's what he is. Not one filled with pain or anguish or sadness. Trying again, I rock to get near him, to comfort him. I only manage to touch my lips to his forearm before I rock back in place, but I hope he gets the gesture.

"You should have seen all the blood in that bathroom." He sighs loudly, staring down at me in wonder, in shock. "It was everywhere. I got hungry and I didn't understand why she never came back out of the bathroom. I mean, I was only young. A toddler, pretty much." He sucks in a gasp of air through his gritted teeth. "There was so much blood, and she was just resting near the bathtub, her head and arms floppy. She wasn't sleeping, and somehow I automatically knew that at the time because..."

He stops suddenly, lifting a hand to rake his fingers through his hair. I think I see tears building in his gray eyes. _Oh, my Christian. Please don't cry._

"I still remember the way her wrists looked. She'd slit them open, and then there was just... blood everywhere. Streaking down her dress, the floor." He closes his eyes briefly, then he reopens them, those tears just as suddenly gone. "Long story short, I was stuck in that house with her for over four fucking days until the police were notified about an odd smell from the house by the neighbors next door." He shakes his head incredulously. "By then, she'd started to reek, her body. Sometimes... sometimes I still can smell it, right under my nostrils, so vividly."

I feel numb from the head downwards as I listen to him. There's nothing. Nothing but shock, but sadness for how horrible it must have been for him. I cannot even seem to find my voice, to find the adequate words on how sorry I am.

"Sometimes I smell it out of nowhere. I'll be in the car with Taylor driving, or I'll be... in a business meeting, and out of nowhere, I'll smell her. My therapist says its a form of PTSD. And then the... the only time it seems to go, the... cure I've found, the... smelling salt to make it stop and make me feel comforted, make me feel more present is..." He stop again, laughing shortly, somewhat embarrassed.

"What?" I prompt softly. "What helps to make it go away?"

"The smell of you, funnily enough." He won't meet my gaze. He stares down at my bare nipples again. "Your underwear, your... natural scent. It seems to be the only thing that grounds me, that calms me and centers me."

Suddenly, I feel bad for saying he has a panty fetish, because it's so much more than that. The idea that smelling my underwear helps him, that it pulls him out of something so horrifically traumatic and complex, it's so sweet, so humbling.

I glance at those marks on his chest again, interspersed along those smatterings of his chest hair. _How dare someone hurt him. How dare he have to go through so much._

He stares at my breasts, seemingly lost, in his own world, trapped back there.

I try to bring him back by being a little honest myself. "When I was younger, I was rather... close to my mother, even although she kept getting constantly divorced and remarried."

I smile at the memories of Mom and I doing fun stuff, stuck together, despite her various different husband's in the background. How I got to be her flower-girl a few times.

"I always took it as... myself not being enough for her, that I wasn't enough compared to... marriage and men." I peer up at Christian to make sure he is following me, and it seems he is. He stares me, listening intently. "I always felt like I'd have to fight for her attention, and then..." My throat closes over bitterly at the memory. "One day she decided I was getting in the way of her travelling with her latest husband, so she palmed me off to my stepfather- the man she'd recently divorced- Ray. I couldn't believe it. I felt so... betrayed."

I shake my head, lost back there myself. How I cried at the airport, clinging onto my mother. How she hushed me because I was embarrassing her in front of all the people there while, at the back of my head, taking it as a confirmation that I wasn't good enough, that I was not even wanted.

"Ever since then, it was always inside the back of my head, that... I was never good enough for even her, my mother. So at school, I met this girl called Sarah, and we were friends for a short while until she pushed me away." I suck in a deep breath, not proud of the story. Will this turn him away? "I was just so... clingy. I fear rejection, and I... cling. I think it's because my mother had something to do with that, how she... refused to let me stay with her."

Anxiety coiling in my stomach, I look at Christian again, almost expecting him to get up and start getting dressed, to be turned off.

"Luckily with Kate, she accepted me no matter what and we're the best of friends, but I... I hate to say how it would turn out if _she_ ever wanted to end our friendship." I lick my lips, looking at him again with a sheepish smile. "I just... I'm always scared of people leaving me. I cling really badly, and I know that... that if something ever were to happen between _us_ , if _you_ tried to leave _me_ , I'd cling, too. Sorry, I... I sound so creepy and desperate and clingy now, don't I?"

"Not at all, Anastasia. If anything..." My heart filling with emotion, he bends down, sticking his nose against my hairline again. "If anything, I realize you're a lot like me."

"A lot like you?" I repeat, and I love the sound of that so much.

"Yes. A lot like me." Leaning back, he looks me over, gently, tenderly, before bending down, putting his nose into the crease of my armpit. Um, is he smelling down there, too? "We're both... fucked up by things that happened when we were children," he breathes, blowing warm air on my armpit, tickling me. "Only thing is, I'm fifty shades of sheer fuckedupness while you're at least... five shades."

He meets my gaze, then he bends down, pressing his mouth against mine again.

 _We're shades of fucked-up, together._ I hum against his mouth. I like that. _A lot_.

 **Hope you enjoyed this one? Probably not as humorous but it needed a bit of seriousness. Thank you so much! :)**


	24. Chapter 24

**Thank you so much! The craziness is back! I'm not this weird in real life, trust me lol :) I just hope to make people laugh and smile hopefully, that's all.**

 **Chapter 24**

When I wake up, I feel in so much pain. I try to shift over in bed, smiling half-asleep to myself, thinking it's just a sign that Christian and I had amazing sexy time last night. Then I realize my wrists are hurting, and my shoulders have cramped and seized up. Opening my eyes, I lift up my head on the pillow, a gasp and a wince leaving me. _Oh, gosh, that hurts. Christian forgot to untie me last night! My arms are still tied to the headboard!_

"Ow," I cry out quietly with a little giggle, and then it's like the sun washing over my skin, warming me, when I turn my head to discover Christian beside me.

My inner Gollum stirs, crooning nasally to his sleeping form.

He's fully asleep, grunting occasionally. We're both naked as the day we were born, on top of the sheets, since neither of us bothered getting beneath them. He looks so adorable with his ruffled hair and the way his muscular forearm is around his forehead protectively.

Poor thing must be utterly wrecked after last night, which I can't blame him. Last night was pretty intense, and my neither region certainly is pleasantly achy. My bound wrists and my shoulders, not to much. It would be really nice if he could untie me, though he looks too peaceful. Would it be rude if I tried to wake him? The pain radiating from my stiff shoulders is unbearable.

"Christian?" I murmur. He doesn't do anything, so I open my mouth, blowing warm air his way, in the direction of his chest. I'm not even sure if my blowing even reaches his skin, because I don't see those little smatterings of light chest hair move at all.

Biting my lip, my eyes dart lower to those scars on his chest again, those cigarette burns. At least we managed to talk last night like two normal people, although I am surprised I never scared him away by admitting my abandonment issues due to my mother. I cannot believe he suffered such horrible things as a child though. I cannot believe someone put cigarettes out on him. What a bastard for hurting him!

"Christian, can you wake up and untie me please?" I try again, desperately. I wiggle again, hearing my bones crack from the stiff soreness. Nope, nothing happening. He must be a real deep sleeper. "Mr Grey?" I call, trying to amuse myself from the pain. Then I bite my lip, chuckling at myself, as I whisper in a sing-song voice, "Oh, Husband-to-be, wakey wakey?"

I feel the blood pour from my face in amazement when Christian suddenly grunts and stirs, and then at last, his eyes blink open, though it takes him a while to look less groggy and sleepy-eyed. _Holy crap, though! He woke to me calling him husband-to-be! Is that a sign?_

He sits up on his side, on his elbow, rubbing his eyes with his fingers. Then, finally, he meets my gaze. I know he's made the mental connection as his eyes run over my face, down my nipples that perk up in greeting at him, then especially my arms and wrists that are still attached to my headboard with his tie. He doesn't make a move to untie me though which is... infuriating.

"Good morning, Anastasia," he breathes, and he bends down, pressing his mouth into mine.

"Hmm, I beg to differ, Mr Grey," I breathe into his lips. "It may be a good morning to you, but it sure isn't for me right now." He swallows my complaining, my voice with his mouth, so I sound all muffly. I end up giggling at the sound of my muffly voice, which surely enough, gets swallowed up by his mouth, too. He makes me sound as though I'm munching on cotton or something.

That's when I get a terrible shooting pain in my shoulder blades, and I jolt beneath him. He leans back to look at me in confusion. "Are you alright?"

"You left my arms tied up last night, and now they're killing me. I bet they're going to be extremely sore today." _Hint, hint._

"Well, with that said, I got to go to work."

"What?" Leaving me speechless and babbling, Christian gets up, stark-naked from the bed.

As he wanders barefooted out of my bedroom, I squeak and panic a little. While the view of his glorious backside and shape of his back was delicious to see, it doesn't ease my stress any. Is he seriously leaving me here tied to my bed?

"Christian?" I call in desperation, wiggling nervously. "Christian, you better not be serious about leaving me here tied to my bed naked! Kate will have a heart attack if she stumbles in on me like this!"

I growl and kick my shins into the mattress when suddenly he pops back into the entryway, grinning at me, his Little Christian saluting me, looking extremely pleased with himself.

"You bastard," I splutter when he finally saunters back over to the bed, crawling over me. I get sucked into the mattress when he leans forward, finally undoing each wrist, thank god. "You weren't really heading into work just then, were you? You weren't really going to leave me here?"

"And let someone else see you, all of you, tied up like this, my property?" Finally, he yanks the tie free and I slowly bring down my arms, a painful ache there. I stretch them a little, moving my shoulders around. It feels so good to finally have them free, but it hurts, too. "Of course not, Anastasia."

 _His property, did he say? Hell yes, I am his! Just like he's mine! My property, mine, mine, mine._

He bends down to kiss me gently, and I automatically grab onto his long tie, pulling it out of his grasp. I wonder if he's down for a bit of role reversal, because I kind of wouldn't mind it myself?

I push my head back into the pillows, looking up at him while stroking the silky tie with my thumb and forefinger. "So," I begin meaningfully, feeling weirdly shy. What am I feeling shy for?

"So, Anastasia?"

"You know, um, what you did to me last night?"

"Yes?" He blinks down at me warily, then he moves, falling back onto his side next to me. "How I broke into your apartment through your bedroom window, we did a sort of... role play thing where I was the serial killer, you the victim, then I tied you to the headboard. Yes, what about it, Anastasia?"

My head reels about how he mentions it all, in one single breath. God, last night was so good. Freaky good. Kinky weird good.

"Well, I... I really enjoyed it, all of it," I murmur. "The whole role play thing, and the... the tying me up thing."

"Yes, I did, too."

I feel so nervous and shy to say it, because what if he takes it the wrong way? What if this is finally the last straw and he runs? "Well, with what you did, how you... um, used your tie, do you just do that to women?"

"Of course I do it to women," he says, and there's an irritated edge to his voice. "I'm not gay, Anastasia. You know that. I'm not interested in doing that with men."

 _What? How did we get to him declaring he isn't gay? I already knew that, duh! He's not gay, because he's meant for me!_

"No, I mean, has a woman ever... done that to you?"

Understanding finally comes across his face as I blush deeply. He inhales in deeply, his chest rising. "When I was... younger, a woman did."

When he was younger? "Oh? How young?"

"Fifteen. She was the... only woman. We had a... dominant submissive role together. I was her submissive."

Hmm, I remember him telling me how he relates to The Graduate and it's his favorite movie because it mirrors his life, with the whole other woman seduction thing. Is she the same Mrs Robinson he was talking about? "You mean, like... Mrs Robinson? That woman you were telling me about?"

"Yes, that's the one. I was... fifteen when she taught me this lifestyle, I was her submissive. She'd punish me whenever I did something out of line, like tie me up, spank me. It turned out to be an extremely good, affirmative life experience for me."

Wow, I'm really learning a lot about him. So he acted as this woman's submissive when he was fifteen? His mother's friend that seduced him? What the fricking frack? I try to push that confession aside, even though it cuts me and irritates me. I want to ask who this woman was, and whether he's still involved with her, which of course, he can't be surely, because he's mine, he's with me and me alone. It's just the way it has to be. "And when she... did that to you, did you enjoy it? Being tied up, letting her dominate you or have you at her mercy?"

 _Bitch!_ My inner Gollum rears his vindictive head. _Bitch, touching our precious, our Master! Master is only ours to have! Only we can make Master submit to us, Masters submission and mercy is ours!_

He stares at me for a moment, lifting a hand to run his fingers through his hair. "Frankly? I decided long ago that... it wasn't right for me, Anastasia. I prefer to be the dominant. I'm not into... switching."

I crinkle up my nose at him. "Switching?"

"It's a term for when... the roles are sometimes reversed and switched. The dominant switches to the submissive role, the submissive the dominant. I think you get it."

"Oh, right." I feel my belly clench in disappointment as I blink down at the tie, fiddling with it with my fingers. He doesn't want me to tie him up then. He doesn't want to let me tie him or role reverse. It's rather sad. I mean, if he could let another woman do that to him, then why can't he let me? Jealousy grows inside me, ugly and bitter. Why can't I be allowed to tie him up too and have him completely at _my_ mercy? "So, just say _I_ wanted to tie you up to the headboard and have you all to myself, your... submission, your... mercy at my feet, what then, Christian?" I ask, testing him.

He stares at me for a moment, thinking it through deeply. Then he sighs. "I'm not sure, Anastasia. I-"

I move quickly, slithering so my legs are astride his waist. He breathes deeply, his head flopping back into the pillow.

"Do I have your submission?" I demand through my teeth, and when I go to grab his wrists together, to bind his hands, he suddenly curls his hands over mine, holding me tightly, firmly.

"Ana," he pants, and his hands tighten over mine, keeping them still. "I can't do it this way."

The Gollum inside me roars. "But you did it with _her_ , whoever she was? So why can't you do it with me?"

"Ana, I can't-"

"What? You don't trust me?" My voice sounds horrible. I sound so greedy, so taunting. "You don't trust me enough to give me control, Christian?"

"Ana, it's not that I don't trust you."

"Then what?" I demand, my voice shaking. This is going so wrong. So, so wrong. "What's wrong then? Why won't you let me?" Wrenching my hands finally free, I move away from him, falling onto my side. I don't know what's wrong with me, maybe I'm crazier than I thought? Maybe he was right last night? I'm five shades of truly fucked-upness, while he's fifty shades? The rejection stings. It's like with my mother all over again. Now that we're in this deep, dark place, I start thinking of other things. Like how we haven't properly spoken about this, like how we haven't DTR'd. Elliot's asked Kate out, hasn't he? They've established that they are girlfriend and boyfriend, so what are we then? Or is it just something we keep avoiding like a bad queef smell? "What is this, Christian?" I keep my eyes on my fingers, wrapping his tie around them.

"What do you mean, 'what is this'?"

"Well, what is this between us?" I hear him sigh loudly, the bed creaking. I feel him move against me, his body brushing up against my backside, his prickly happy trail and Little Christian gliding against my bottom. "Kate and Elliot are together. Did you hear them at your parents house? They're dating."

"So? What the fuck has Elliot and Kate got to do with anything, Anastasia?"

"So... are we dating? Is this what this is?"

It goes unnervingly quiet where he is. Is there where he leaves? Well, I did warn him last night that I have clingy tendencies, though asking for a definition on what we are doesn't seem 'clingy' to me. "Anastasia, I've told you so many times," he breathes in frustration, his mouth near my ear. "I've told you, I don't _do_ the girlfriend thing."

I giggle snort incredulously at his words. He doesn't do the girlfriend thing? Then what the fudge has been going on here? He introduced himself as my boyfriend to Ray? I introduced myself as his girlfriend to the in-laws? Things have been pretty intense. This is so confusing! Is it usually this confusing?

"So what? You're just... a non-boyfriend? You just break into my apartment window for sex, and sniff my panties and demand your weekly unwashed pairs of underwear? We see each other all the time, we've met each other's folks pretty much, and yet, we're not boyfriend and girlfriend, Christian?" Isn't this like the definition of boyfriend and girlfriend- all of that?

"Ana, what the fuck is going on right now?" I shut my eyes when he brings up his hand, brushing my hair back. Then the mattress depresses as he leans down, sniffing my hair, Mr Thin Man. God, he does The Thin Man hair sniffing for goodness sake? Isn't that reason alone that he's my boyfriend? His hair-sniffing obsession? "Are we seriously fighting right now?"

When I reopen my eyes reluctantly to glance up at him, I see he's holding a piece of my hair between his fingers. He parts his lips, brushing the end of my hair over his lips, tracing them. Then he catches that hair between his teeth, and he tugs it a little. I'm not sure whether it's intentional of him or not, but it gets me going, how he looks, tugging at a strand of my hair with his teeth. _Damn, why does he have to be so kinky freaky hot? Why do I have to find everything he does to me super sexy, even if its stuff like sniffing my old underwear?_

"I don't want fight with you," he murmurs quietly, and then he opens his mouth, sucking in my hair. It's like an erotic image that goes straight down to my core, lighting me up on fire. _Holy balls of Satan, why does he have to know all the magical kinky freaky ways to get me going?_ "Things were going great." He pulls my hair out of his mouth, holding it to his nose, breathing it in again. "I don't see why we have to define this, when everything's going smoothly as it is."

 _But I want a definition for this, can't he see that? I want him to be my boyfriend, for us to be a couple, and then eventually, my husband. I want him to give me babies, and then for us to grow those little Ana's and Christian's together while being kinky freaky for the rest of our lives. Why can't he see how perfect we are together? We are a match made in Heaven- Grace even said so! We like the kinky freaky stuff we do together, and while to normal people, it's freaky, but to us, it's KINKY FREAKY. Why can't he see I'm the only one for him? That I'm the only one who understands him? That we belong together, forever, and that we should be boyfriend and girlfriend?_

"I think you should go, Christian." It comes out of my mouth before I can stop myself. But wherever that voice has come from, I know it's for the best, agonizing as it is. He _should_ go.

He swallows, blinking down at me. "Ana, if you knew the truth-"

"-Knew what truth, Christian?" I demand, and I reach up with my hand. I brush my fingers gently up his throat, his chin, _oooh my precious_. "You told me last night, you talked to me. About the marks on your chest, your... your mother and how her... her pimp treated you. I know everything there is to know, don't I?" When I sweep my fingers up his forehead, into his hair, he swallows again loudly, his eyes clenched closed. He looks so peaceful with me touching his face, like he's wrapped up in my finger-loving. How can he not want to be defined as my boyfriend if he likes my hair touching, my finger-loving on his precious face? "I didn't judge you last night, just like you... you didn't judge me over what I told you about my mother or the... the poster up on my wall even. So what makes you think I'd judge you now, Christian?"

He reopens his eyes to glance down at me. He looks so troubled, my poor Christian. MY Christian. "What are you doing later tonight?" he asks, slowly, reluctantly.

"Why?" I stop running my fingers through his thick hair, even though my fingers mourn the loss of how it feels.

"Because there's something I need to show you. Bring your phone. Maybe even a weapon also, like a... like that knife over there." He tilts his head towards the kitchen knife I playfully brought in earlier.

 _Bring my phone? And a weapon? Huh?"_ What? Why would I need to-"

"-So you can call the police afterwards, Anastasia." I almost laugh. That's the same warning he gave me when I went into his penthouse and when I saw parts of his collection, like my lipstick, my hair. _Like I'd ever call the police! Doesn't he get that?_

"Christian, how many times do I have to tell you that I won't call the police on you?"

He sighs loudly, licking his lips. "Well, that might change this time. Trust me. Because what I'm going to show you, it's..." He hesitates, troubled.

"It's what, Christian?"

"Pretty... fucked-up, Anastasia. And I'm talking fifty shades of total fucked-upness, _like me_."

Hmm. "What? Do you have a dead body in one of your rooms or something, Christian?" I say it as a teasing joke, but I am sort of disturbed. The way he's talking, you'd think he'd have homemade skin suits in one of his rooms. Or a shrine or something. _Oh, God. Even the thought of Christian having a shrine dedicated to me!_ I lick my lips at the thought.

"A dead body? Of course not."

"Well, you said it was like fifty shades of fucked-upness?" I laugh, even although it's probably not a laughing matter. It amuses me way more than it probably should. Yep, I have serious mental problems. "To me, a dead corpse is the definition of fifty shades of fucked-upness?"

Christian scrunches his face up, considering. "Well, maybe not fifty shades of fucked-upness then. Perhaps more like twenty shades. Or thirty." I giggle again, melting when he bends down, pressing a kiss into my pulse-point. "I know you'll leave," he murmurs into my skin, and I'm startled by how low and worried he sounds. "Once you see it, I know you'll run away. Or maybe even put out a restraining order on my ass."

"A restraining order?" I'm basically mewling at his attention to my neck. He grazes his teeth around my chin. "That bad, huh?" But can't he see? I could never put out a restraining order on him? No matter what, I couldn't, no matter how bad anything is. How funny; I always find myself thinking the exact same thing about him, that if he knew how intense I felt... if he could read my crazy loony obsessive thoughts. "I used to think that, too," I hum dozily.

"Think what? About putting a restraining order out on me?"

"No, but..." I inhale deeply when he runs his tongue down my throat, tasting me. A cannibal Christian. "I used to always think that, if you knew, you'd... maybe put a restraining order out on me sometimes?" The instance it leaves my mouth, I wish I could suck it back in like the Mega-Beasts smelly cigarette smoke. "Sorry," I mumble. "I probably sound so creepy now, don't I?"

"Remember how you told me about your mother last night, Anastasia?" he asks, and he slips his warm, muscular arm around my naked waist, holding me tight, crushing me, a barnacle. I reach down, grabbing his arm, wrapping my fingers tight around his forearm. Two barnacles. "How you... you said that you think that, due to that, it's made you fucked-up and clingy?"

I swallow nervously, nodding my head. Is this the part where he gets up and bolts? "Yes, I do. What about it?"

"I'm like that, too," he says, and he moves his mouth up to my earlobe, breathing hot air over me. His arm tightens over my waist, crushing, holding tight- but it feels nice. Like he's clenching hard with all his might, afraid to let me go, clinging.

"You are?" I whisper in disbelief.

"I'm... afraid of people leaving me, ever since... my real mother, you know." I really am learning a lot about him. But more so than that, I'm learning how we truly are alike, a match made in Heaven in more ways than I had realized. "When I was younger, after Grace adopted me, I would... cry whenever she simply left me alone for one fucking second to get milk at the grocery store. A part of me always feared she would never come back, that she wouldn't return to me." My heart aches for the Little Christian, crying and panicked at the thought of Grace leaving him. "It was probably stupid to worry so much, because she always would return. Grace is good, and she always would return but... I always fucking got so scared that she wouldn't. I was always petrified as a child."

Comfortingly, I clench down with my fingers on his forearm. He breathes shakily, deeply.

"That's how I feel now, Anastasia."

"What do you mean?"

"With you," he explains, and he licks down my chin again, making my throat ache with a giddy giggle. "I feel fucking... petrified right now, at the thought of you seeing what I want to show you... like I'm that little boy again. Afraid you'll leave, that you won't come back for me."

 _How fudging sad._

I try to turn, to see his face, only he's holding me too tight. This barnacle won't let go. "Guess we're both pretty fucked-up then, aren't we?" I murmur sadly, echoing his words from before. "But I meant what I said, Christian. I won't call the police and I... I won't put a restraining order out on you. I'm not going to leave you like you thought Grace would when she went to get the milk or... or run."

"You don't know that," he argues. "Like I said, it's fucked up."

My stomach gurgles rudely from hunger. Or maybe it's just the beginning of gas? Can't be too sure.

"What was that?" Christian mutters in shock, breaking the tension away from our rather depressing conversation. Even last night, it was rather depressing too. But it's nice to know more about him, to learn these things.

"I'm hungry," I admit. "My stomach just gurgled because I'm ravenous. I swear it wasn't a fart!"

"A fart, Miss Steele?" He sounds shocked, but playfully so. A giggle escapes me at how he sounds saying that word. Fart. "What enchanting vocabulary you have. A fart?"

"What?" I mumble defensively. "No need to act coy, Mr Grey. I bet even the great Christian Grey farts occasionally? He's not Mr Perfection all the time. He's human like the rest of them, right?" _God, why did I have to mention farts in front of him? Why can't I just be normal around him?_

"Indeed he is. But a fart, Miss Steele?"

If he keeps saying that word, I am accidentally going to fart in front of him on the bed if he keeps making me laugh like a lunatic the way he is. "Okay, that's enough teasing me, Mr Grey." I try to get free from his arm, but he still holds me tight. "I'm going to get something to eat, because I'm really hungry as my stomach indicated rudely a few moments ago."

"You sure that's just it?" He still won't let me go. He sounds worried again. It's a shame the talk of farts hadn't kept him amused for too long. "How do I know you're not just pretending to get something to eat, when really, you're running out the door?"

"Christian, I feel really hungry!"

"Fine," he mutters and, with telling unwillingness, he releases me, finally. I get up, giving my sore arms a good stretch. I turn to find him watching me, eyeing me in all my nude glory. My nipples come alive, waving at him. I grin at him before sauntering out of the room bravely, naked. Too bad if Kate came home early. "Get me something to eat too while you're at it, wife," I hear Christian call, and then I stop dead still in the kitchen entryway, my heart clenching, my stomach exploding.

 _Holy crap. Did he just call me what I think he did? Did he just call me wife?_

Trying to remain normal, I move into the kitchen, grabbing some bread to make us some toast. _The comment won't leave me though, and my mind is going wild. Oh, my God! He called me wife! Wife! My dreams are realized at last! Wife, wife, wife!_

I feel a bit queasy with excitement once the toast has popped up in the toaster. It's a bit burnt and crusty, but I don't care. He called me wife, even if not unintentionally but by accident. That means he's thinking about it, right? Holy crap! Wife!

I spread butter and peanut butter on streaky black bits of our toast, shoving them onto a plate before heading back towards the room. I pause by the doorway, calming myself. _But wife! Wife! Wife!_

But when I get towards the doorway, looking in, seeing my man, my hopes and heart is crushed. I almost drop the plate of burnt toast and peanut butter to the ground in shock. _No, no, no. This can't be happening._

There, he sits, naked on my bed, leaning his head against the headboard...

 _No, no, no. Crappity, crap, crapola._

Flipping through my Christian Grey collection folder that he must have found stashed beneath my bed, his gray eyes wide, intrigued, his face pale, mouth open as he breathes unsteadily.

"Uh, Ana?" he croaks out, his eyes glued to each plastic pocket as he flips the page. There's disgust in his voice, I can tell. Disgust.

My Christian Grey folder with all the articles and interviews I have collected of him devotedly over the months.

"Jesus, Anastasia, what's-"

My Christian Grey folder where I cut one picture of his head off and stuck it next to a picture of mine. Maybe I made it so it was like we were married, with my head stuck over a female's body in a wedding gown, Christian in a man's tux.

"What the fuck is this?"

My Christian Grey folder where I stuck in that chest hair of his that I plucked off his chest the first time we had sex together and he was sleeping.

"Fuck, Anastasia. Is that hair from my-"

Everything is over.

Now _he's_ the one that's going to leave me.

 **Oh-oh. The secrets out-on Ana's side anyway lol. Hope you enjoyed the craziness as much as I have fun writing it (and enjoying reading your thoughts especially). Sorry if it's too weird. As I said, I promise I'm normal in my daily life lol. Thank you!**


	25. Chapter 25

**Thank you so much! Craziness here, hope you enjoy lol.**

 **All is revealed lol.**

 **Chapter 25**

It wasn't supposed to go like this. It wasn't supposed to be this way. He wasn't supposed to find my Christian Grey folder collection at all. We weren't ready for this yet. I was going to show him eventually, of course I would, but... maybe once we were married and I'd already had him bound to me legally by matrimony. _But oh, no! No, no, no!_

If I were truly crazy, I would probably be the one feeling upset and betrayed that he apparently snooped under my bed, grabbing my folder. I mean, what an invasion! What an invasion of my privacy!

Yet, here I stand, utterly helpless and emotionless as his gaze alternates from me, to my collection, then back to me again. My hands begin to shake as I hold the plate of our burnt toast and peanut butter for breakfast, my body feeling numb. Is this definitely the part where he leaves me?

 _Idiot_ , my inner Gollum chastises me. _Silly, silly, silly. We should have hid it better from Master! Master does not have the strength for this right now, our precious Master needs to rest!_ I shut that inner voice up by shaking my head several times.

"Christian," I manage. It comes out a sob.

"Anastasia, what is this?" he tries again, and then my heart is crushed viciously when he sits the folder on the bed, abruptly getting to his feet. "Are you even going to answer me?" He snatches up my folder, waving it around at me. "Ana, what _is_ this?"

He's breathing loudly in a panicked, frightened way, staring at me as though I'm a rottweiler, a rabid Cujo about to strike and bite him. Or a crazy disgusting Mega-Beast even. I'm none of those things, truly. Of course I'm not. I'm so utterly devoted to him, we're a match made in Heaven. I'm his perfect girl, his wife. So why is he looking at me in that way? Like I'm coo-coo crazy?

 _No! No! He wasn't supposed to react this way at all! I mean, he called me his wife a few minutes ago for goodness sake! It may have been unintentional and playful when he said it, but... still! His reaction isn't supposed to be like this!_

"How long have you been doing this? I mean..." He pauses, glancing down at the folder again. Then he lays it on the bed, rifling through the plastic pockets, going through my stash of articles, of interviews and pictures. In another circumstance, I would have found it sexy, him naked, rifling through my folder, his Little Christian erect. But not now, not in this circumstance. "The first one is dated last year, Anastasia? The interview I did last year for GQ magazine when I was rated Sexiest Man of the Year? Nearly _eight months_ ago?"

"I told you, Christian."

I'm surprised I can even manage to find my voice, I'm that lightheaded and shaky. I accidentally drop our breakfast because my fingers feel weak. It clatters to the floor, burnt toast and peanut butter smearing all over at my feet. Crumbs, too. I don't even care. Right now doesn't seem like an eating sort of time, even although we should be celebrating after he incidentally called me his wife.

"I... I've been fairly honest with you up to this point. I told you I liked you ever since that interview I saw of you on NBC over eight months ago!"

"And you've been doing this ever since? You've been collecting shit about me?" I feel like he's quivering at me, he's literally quivering with fear, with disgust. His upper body is shaking. "All of the interviews I did and the... the photo-shoots?"

"Yes, that's right," I whisper quietly. I can feel tears gathering in my eyes. This just wasn't supposed to happen at all!

"And what the fuck is this then, Anastasia?" he demands, and he brandishes the little pocket with the piece of his chest hair that I stuck in there for safekeeping. "Is that my... my pubic hair?"

"God no." I wrap my arms around my chest, trying to stop from shivering. My nips are standing erect, though I hardly think that's due to Christian. It's chilly in here, and the situation sort of gives you a frosty feeling. "I would never be so gross as to collect your pubic hair, Christian!"

"Then where? Where's it from?" I really wish he would stop raising his voice at me. He makes it sound like I'm a monster, a despicable person.

"F-f-from your chest, that's all. It's just from your chest, from... from that first night we made love at your apartment. You were sleeping, and you..." Despite the tears trailing down my cheeks, I can't help smiling weakly at the memory. "You were sleeping so peacefully. I don't think you even noticed. I mean, clearly you didn't."

He gazes at me warily at my confession, then he moves, grabbing his clothes. _Shit, fuckity fuck. No, no. He's leaving! No! Master can't leave us! Master needs us!_

"Christian," I plead hopelessly when he starts stepping into his trousers. "Christian, please. You don't need to-"

"-Yes, I do," he snaps, and I notice he won't look at me. He buttons his trousers, searching for his shirt from around the bed on the floor.

He's leaving me, and funnily enough, a part of me always suspected he would once he truly knew the extent of my devotion, of my loyalty and my love. It didn't matter what he said, how we spoke so much, how he confessed his childhood and listened to mine, accepting my abandonment issues due to my mother. It's not enough. He's leaving.

"You're such a hypocrite!" I scream out through my mouth, and I think it's finally my inner Alex Forrest speaking, going into damage control mode. "What about you, Christian!"

"What about me?"

"What about _your_ collection, huh?" I cry, my voice a wail. I step forward a few paces, treading over crumbs and peanut butter, watching miserably as he throws on his jacket. "What about that night when we first made love and you took me back to your penthouse, how you... you had my lipstick which you'd stolen from breaking into here! My _favorite lipstick_ , Christian!"

Finally, he looks at me as he steps forward, running a hand through his hair. He's still breathing shallowly, like he's in shock, but at least he isn't staring at me in that disgusted way anymore. What is he thinking?

"Oh, and let's not forget _my_ hair, Christian! My hair that you stole from my hairbrush! You act so offended and all Mr Innocent that I took a piece of your chest hair when you took some of _my_ hair, too!"

"Eight months," he mutters, and there's a strange gleam to his eyes that I cannot work out. I hate that I can't. "This has been going on for _eight months_ , Anastasia. Now how am _I_ meant to compete with that?"

 _What? Compete with that?_

"What? What are you... what are you saying, Christian?"

"I'm leaving. I've got some work to do." It's worse than I could ever have imagined.

He moves past me, careful not to touch me. I tighten my arms over my chest, wishing that somehow I could reach straight in to squish my aching insides as my knees buckle beneath the enormity of the pain when I hear him reach the front door of my apartment. My inner Gollum is shrieking, and he wants to run after Master, begging, pleading. I do, too.

Without thought, I storm out, rushing towards the door. Christian's bending down, lacing up his shoes.

"You can't leave me, Christian," I mutter desperately. "You're being like _her_. You said you wouldn't be like her."

"Like _who_ , Anastasia?" He glances up at me, his eyes narrowed with confusion. "I don't remember saying anything like that?"

Maybe I'm getting my thoughts all jumbled? To be honest, I can't even remember any previous conversations we had all that well, because I am so in the moment, so wrapped up in the fact that he is leaving me and how unbearable it feels. "I...I assured you that I wouldn't be like her, that I... I wouldn't be like how your mother was, how Grace was whenever she'd go into the shop for milk and you were always petrified she'd leave you."

My legs give out then, and I fall to the ground, sobbing hysterically. Here goes my Alex Forrest.

"Now you're here leaving me," I mumble through sobs.

I hear him sigh loudly. "Anastasia, I got a call from work." No, he didn't. I can tell he didn't. I didn't hear his phone go off. "There's some... stuff I need to do."

"Liar, liar, pants on fire," I croak out, and cave into myself against the wall, tucking my knees in, covering my face with my hands. "Work didn't call you, Christian! Your... your phone didn't ring! You're lying to me because you're running due to my folder collection! You think I can't see that?"

God, I always thought I would never be like this, that I could control myself. I would never let him see this side of me, the obsessed, broken, clingy side of me. But it's too late now.

"Anastasia, get up. You don't belong on your knees, on the floor."

"What?" I dash my tears away quickly, uncovering my face to peer up at him from where he's standing by the door. I probably look a mess, all snotty and teary and puffy-eyed. "Please, Christian," I beg, trying to peer into his eyes desperately. He glances away from me, down at the floor with another loud, pained sigh. "Please, don't leave me. I know it... it looks bad, the folder and the, um, the chest hair, but I-"

"- It _is_ bad," he argues over me, his voice rising. He leans against the door, breathing loudly, burying both hands in his hair. "It's _very..._ bad, Anastasia."

"I... I thought you understood? I... I thought I was being honest with you all those times when I told you about how I saw you on TV? I mean, there's a poster on my bedroom ceiling, for goodness sake, Christian! I told you how I use my Rabbit vibrator while looking up into your eyes!" Getting up onto my knees, I start slithering towards him, pleading, begging. I'm willing to even lick his shoes- that's how deep my devotion rests. "How could you not know?"

Reaching his shoes and his legs, I lean in, brushing the side of my face up into his crotch, wiping away my tears on the fabric.

"Ana," he breathes, and there's so much pain in his voice, so much desperation. "I told you-" He begins, then he stops. He reaches down, stroking my hair gently, the top of my head. "Get up. I told you... you don't belong on your knees in front of me. If anything, _I_ should be on my knees, worshiping you."

 _He should be on his knees worshiping me? Mmm._

I ignore him, sobbing again, nuzzling around his crotch. _My precious baby Christian. MY Christian, mine, mine, mine._

This is me, all of me. The clingy, creepy ugly Alex Forrest Fatal Attraction me. I'm baring it all, leaving it all at his feet, his knees. He just can't leave me like this. Can't he see that?

"I just... ever since I saw that interview of you, I knew," I wail into his trousers. He fists my hair, stroking gently. "And then when I met you, I... I knew even more, Christian. It's just this feeling that you get. You know?" I can feel the delicious heat of him through the material. It's soothing. Addictive. "Like you meet someone or you... you see someone, and you know."

"Know what?"

"I knew that you..." I hesitate, lifting up to glance up at him through my wet eyelashes. He peers down at me, slipping his hands over my face, stroking me with his thumbs. Ooh, my precious. "I knew that we belonged together, that we were... meant to be. Even just seeing you, far away, on that interview on NBC, I knew, Christian. I _knew_ what we were meant to be."

I think my words, freaky as they, are affecting him. He stares down at me, sadly, helplessly, breathing rapidly. I feel a tent rise in the crotch of his trousers. Its so beautiful, that demonstration alone. It lifts my heart, makes me sing. But that's us. We're kinky freaky, and that's what makes us perfect together. He loves my freaky, and I love his freaky too. All of him.

I can tell he finds it so hot, what I'm saying, how I'm laying all the cards out onto the table. A groan leaves his throat as he leans his head back against the wall, his eyes clenching closed like my words are his lifeline, his bliss; his hands tight on my face. Just like that, I'm reassured. He isn't leaving me anymore.

He's seen this side of me- ugly, pathetic, desperate as it is- and he's aroused by it. My freaky doesn't scare him because his own freaky matches mine, too. And it's kinky and its _ours_.

"I am obsessively, passionately, murderously in love with you, Christian." It tears out of my mouth shakily before I can stop myself. _Oh, shit. No, no! I wasn't meant to say that! That's going too far!_

"You're what?" He swallows as his eyes pop open, his gaze falling down on me. His eyes are wide, panicked and fearful.

Since I figure I can't dig my own hole any deeper, I say it again, trying to muster all my emotion, all my heart into it. "I'm obsessively, passionately... murderously in love with you, Christian. Can't you see that?"

I was going to wait until he said it first. Or at the very least, on our wedding day. But it's too late now, and I can't suck it back in.

He shuts his eyes, exhaling deeply. "No, Ana. No, you..."

 _No, Ana? What?_

"No, that's..." When he opens his eyes slowly, glancing back down at me, stroking my face, that fear is there in his eyes again. "But you _can't_ love me."

 _I can't love him? What the fudge? The hell I can!_

"But I _am_ in love with you," I say vehemently, keeping my eyes on his, my vision blurring with tears. He makes a deep, revolted noise at my words, shaking his head. Like he's in denial. "I am, and I... I do, Christian."

"You won't," he says, and he makes a noise again. "Once you see, you won't anymore, Anastasia. You won't want to, once you truly... see." _Silly Billy Chrissy._

"Oh, but I do see." Ungracefully, I get to my knees, then stand, running my hands up along his legs as I go. "I see, and I... I love every part of you, Christian."

"No, Ana, you... you don't. You won't once you... see what I want to show you."

Oh, my god. Are we really going to fight over this right now?

"Then take me," I demand, glancing up at his face desperately. "Take me and show me whatever it is that you damn well need to show me, Christian." Sliding my hands up around his broad shoulders, caressing him, I go to touch his face, to hold that precious skull of his like he's doing mine. But he catches my hands in his, holding them tightly, his eyes searching my face as he breathes shakily. There's still so much fear in his eyes, so much nerves. "Show me whatever it is that you need to show me, and then, I'll show _you_."

* * *

It feels so good when we walk hand in hand towards wherever it is that he wants to show me in his penthouse. I feel so much better now that I've practically bared my soul to him, now that I have gotten everything off my chest.

I've told him _everything_ , and yet, what's so difficult to believe is that Christian is still here. I was ugly, and Alex Forrest disturbingly obsessive to him, confessing and admitting to my fixation with him the past eight months since his NBC interview aired and yet, he didn't even flinch. He accepted my twisted love, my collection.

He's still here, holding onto my hand, clinging like I imagine he would have done to Grace as a baby boy Christian, paranoid she'll leave, and it's so wonderful. It feels so good. I cannot believe he didn't react badly.

"Now, you've got your phone on you, right?" he mutters anxiously once he leads the way upstairs, beckoning me down along the hallway. We stop at a door- one I haven't paid much attention to in his penthouse before, and he looks at me, breathing deeply before releasing my hand. "You've got your phone ready to call the police?"

"Yes, it's right here, Christian." I show him my phone, and I start feeling sickly nervous myself. It's him. He just looks so petrified, like he's any second away from pooping himself. It's weirdly endearing. I'm sure he's overreacting. Whatever it is, it will play no bearing on my devotion to him whatsoever.

He pulls a key out of his pocket, turning it around with trembling fingers. "Now, it's like I said. It's fifty shades of sheer fuckedup-ness, all right?"

"Christian," I murmur impatiently. He's really starting to annoy me. "What can I do to make you see I'm never going to call the police or leave? What can I even begin to say to convince you?"

"Well, either way, I'll try not to stop you. But if you try to leave, there's no... guarantees that I won't chase after you, screaming at the top of my lungs for you to stop." Surprising me, he searches my face again, then he leans down, putting his nose inches from my hairline. Mr Thin Man from Charlies Angels again, like he's having his last parting sniff, inhaling me in. "Just in case it's the last time," he mutters unevenly, and he breathes me in like nicotine before moving back. "Anastasia, if I get violent or cry, just... knee me in the groin, all right?"

"Just open the damn door and show me already, Christian."

Inserting the key in the door, he unlocks it, taking in a deep breath.

"Fifty shades of fucked up," he reminds me one last time, his voice tight, hoarse.

Then finally, he opens the door, gauging my reaction, standing back to let me in. I so want to know what's in here. I so want to see what has him worried, but he assured me it wasn't something like a dead corpse. _Well, I hope not anyway._

Clenching onto my phone, I step slowly into the room. And... I gasp, my eyes widening.

 _Holy cheese-balls. This gives new meaning to the term 'Stalker shrine'._

The first thing I notice, is that he lied to me. He hadn't wanted pairs of my underwear just so that he could make a quilt with them. No, he wanted them for an entirely different reason altogether; He's hung red rope or cable tie or something from one corner of the ceiling to another, attached by hooks at both ends. Dangling on the rope, like a homemade indoor washing line, are pairs of my underwear, my unwashed panties.

There is a mannequin like the ones from a clothes shop sitting on an old antique leather armchair. He's dressed her up in a light brown haired wig (oddly enough, a wig matching the color of my hair strikingly well) and she's wearing... hey, are they my clothes?

He must have stolen some clothes from my house, ones he wouldn't think I'd notice were missing. Well, he succeeded obviously because I hadn't known those clothes were even gone from my apartment wardrobe.

The outline of her lips are coated with what looks like my favorite red lipstick that I know he stole when he broke into my bedroom that time. Did he put lipstick on her, my lipstick? Has he been kissing the mannequin, pretending she's me? My inner Gollum is not too pleased by the idea of that.

But what gets to me, most of all, is what I see on every corner of every wall that I turn.

It's everywhere. On the walls. On the ceiling. Me. Pictures. Pictures that Jose Rodriguez took of me, I'm pretty sure. Which means...

"Oh my God," I mutter in shock, in fear. "This... this is _huge_ , Christian?"

I clasp a hand over my mouth to stifle down the urge to gag, wandering around, staring up at the pictures on the canvases, at my face that peers back at me in various expressions; Smiling, laughing. Pouting.

As the realization dawns onto me, I dart around to look at Christian. He won't meet my gaze, but he's lurking behind me, skulking in case I probably try to do a runner. "You're him? You're Paul Spector, the... the guy that purchased all the canvases of me for over two thousand dollars, Christian?"

"Fifty shades of fucked-up," he mutters by way of explanation.

I watch him as he stares at all the canvases on the walls, his expression softening, something bright and burning in his eyes as he stares at me on the canvases. _Whoa, is that his look of infatuation? Admiration?_ My inner Gollum loves that, a lot.

"Oh my," I whisper nervously, covering my mouth as I walk to where a glass covered cabinet is. There's that hair in there, those strands that I noticed he'd taken from my house. My lipstick down on another boxed see-through shelf. And... "Jesus," I mutter, not sure whether to feel disgusted or truly humbled or not. "Remember how I called you a hypocrite earlier on today when you tried to leave all because I collected your chest hair? Well, double that!"

There's a tampon in there. My _used_ tampon, because Kate definitely doesn't get her periods anymore now that she takes the pill to stop it.

"This is bad, Christian," I scold him, moving closer. The hairs stick up eerily on the nape of my neck when I feel him behind me, looking himself. "This is really, really bad. A used tampon? When did you get that from my apartment?"

"Remember when I slept over that night and you caught me going through your trash at three am in the morning?"

 _Holy crap, and there I had been, thinking he was simply looking through my bin for food scraps because he was hungry._ How naive I was.

I begin to feel a little ill as I turn to face him, finding him standing closer than I anticipated. "I don't even want to begin to know what you do with that, Christian?"

"It's in plastic," he says defensively. "It's not like I-"

"-Well, you keep warning me that you're fifty shades of fucked-up, Christian. In my definition, doing something with my used tampon _is_ fifty shades of fucked-up?"

"What? No!" His eyes widen as he glances down at the tampon himself, all neat and wrapped in its glass cabinet. "I just... I wanted something to do with you. I... I needed it for this."

"What do you mean 'you wanted something to do with me', Christian?"

He grimaces as he meets my gaze, almost apologetic. "It's my Anabilia, that's all."

 _His what?_ "Your what?" I probe in disbelief.

"My Anabilia. It... it's extremely _precious_ to me."

"Your Ana-bab-"

"- Ana-bilia," he explains slowly, exaggerating the two words so I can understand. "That's Ana with memorabilia, sort of a mix between the two." He's suddenly like a nerd, gushing enthusiastically about his car or figurine collection, "Because, as you can see, this room is filled with Ana, and _you're_ Ana, but... all of this is memorabilia, like a collection of objects that are associated with you, things that are strictly you and things that you've... touched." He speaks about it all with so much intensity, so much passion, like he's really dedicated to this. _Wow._

 _Holy fuck. How am I supposed to react to this? This is too much._

While it's sort of sweet and romantic, him dedicating an entire room to all things me, it's... nerve-wracking. Slightly overwhelming. "Does anyone else know about this?" I ask, shocked. "I mean, has anyone else seen all of this?"

"Of course not. No one else is even allowed in here, Anastasia, hence why I keep it locked. Only _I_ have the key."

I scratch my head as I stare up at an obnoxiously huge picture of me grinning, feeling so, so overwhelmed. God, there's so much stuff. I wasn't expecting this at all. It's so... hardcore compared to my collection of him. The only mainly gross thing that I did was collect his chest hair, whereas he has a used tampon, my hair. I don't even know what to think right now.

There are so many questions on my mind right now. I've since accepted that we are kinky freaky, but... is this too kinky freaky to me? Can I handle it, the room and all the canvases and the... the used tampon? Can I look past this- what's he called it, his Anabilia?

"Say something," Christian commands, his voice soft, pleading. When I glance over at him again, he looks so worried, so on-guard, like he's bracing himself for me to run for the hills screaming.

"What do you want me to say, Christian? I mean... what can I possibly say right now?

"Just give me a brief overview," he mutters urgently. "Just let me know what you're thinking, where your heads at."

What am I thinking, other than freaking the eff out while being weirdly flattered by this? "Okay. Well, I'm thinking that... this is scary, Christian."

"Scary?"

"Yep." My eyes drift over to that lone tampon again. I shiver. "That tampon is actually a _huge_ issue for me."

"Then I'll get rid of it, I swear. Anything for you." My heart races a little at the declaration, at how heated and sincere he sounds. "Anything else you wish to tell me, in regards to your feelings right now?"

I may be kinky freaky, but apparently that doesn't overcloud my judgment badly. I feel the urge to leave, to get out of this room. It's too much. Overwhelming. Romantically, perversely overwhelming. "I feel a little... sick actually," I admit slowly, and I press my fingers against my lips, holding them shut as I turn to meet him again.

Christian's entire face falls as he scrutinizes me. "Sick?" he repeats, and he starts panting. "Anastasia, I'll get rid of the tampon, I swear. Just please don't-"

"- I... I need to be alone, Christian. I need to... to process this."

"In here?"

"No, _out_ of here. Like far, _far away_ from you." I turn to leave, my head jumbled. God, what to think? How to feel? "I need to be alone for a while. I just... this is huge, Christian."

"You're leaving me, aren't you?" How funny. It's like me this morning, but the roles are well in reverse. Am I going to leave him now that I've discovered this?

"Of course not, Christian." I can't even bring myself to face him. "I just... I need to go home right now."

This is huge! That room was huge, and he even had a new name created up for it, a combination of my name along with memorabilia! How do I process that level of admiration, that level of devotion that he's showing me?

I press the button, calling the elevator up. It's only when the doors open and I'm safely inside it that I find the strength to face him. He stares back at me, that serial-killer serious look on his face, fear and something similar to warmth shining in his eyes.

"Why do I get the feeling that you're running away from me? Like I'm... too many shades of fucked up for you?" he asks me, concern in his voice. "Look, Anastasia, I meant what I said. I'll get rid of the tampon, I just... you can't leave me."

As the elevator doors begin to slide closed, his face vanishing, I whisper it beneath my breath while my inner Gollum mourns the loss of his precious, beautiful face; a shocked murmur-gasp at the revelation.

"Holy fuck. He's passionately, obsessively, murderously in love with me too."

 **What did you think? Hope it wasn't a disappointment. Lol, hope I made you laugh somewhat anyway, and I know it's overboard and unrealistic but it's fun trying to imagine what would happen if two people were extremely obsessed with each other lol. Would love to know your feelings anyway :) I know some of you are disappointed Ana just got in the elevator, but poor girl is in a state of shock. She'll come around. If you have anything you'd like to see happen as far as plotwise, etc, feel free to let me know as its appreciated and most welcome.**


	26. Chapter 26

**Hey guys, I'm so sorry for taking such a long time to update. Life has kept me away so I'm really sorry, but I haven't forgotten about the story. Feel like I'm a bit rusty so I'm sorry if this one isn't as humorous as they usually are. Hope you enjoy :)**

* * *

 **Chapter 26**

 **CPOV:**

The instance she vanishes in the elevator, it's like my heart has stopped.

This must be what dying or having an early heart attack at a young age feels like because, Jesus... the pain. I think it's about the worst pain I have ever felt in my entire almost twenty nine years of life. It's like, along with Ana getting in that elevator, she's taken my heart with her. She's torn my heart out and taken it along with her, and now, I feel like a shell. Empty. Completely hollow, just standing there, staring at the closed elevator where she left.

I drop to my knees and let out a growl. My hands are shaking as I tighten them into a fist. My teeth are gritted so hard it fucking hurts my jaw.

She left. She couldn't take it. She couldn't take my Anabilia. And hadn't I already had that suspicion that she couldn't?

I let her see me, the me that's fucked up fifty-shades, the one that has grown consumed by her, hence why I started my Anabilia collection in the first place. I don't understand, particularly when I think back to this morning, how great it was. How I discovered she had an entire folder dedicated to me, with interviews from magazines and photo-shoot pictures. And hell, even my chest hair that she stole that I didn't even know she took from me. My hairs on my chest sting in delayed reaction at remembering the fact she had taken some of my chest hair.

I had been so surprised when I discovered her very own collection. Flattered, but surprised. And a little disappointed by my own collection, my Anabilia, how it seemed to pale and be lacking compared to hers. Apparently not. Apparently a used tampon and an entire room dedicated to her was more than enough, and I had only been paranoid.

It had been more than enough. Enough to push her away and make her leave for good.

The minute I'd let her in here, about to show her my room of Anabilia, I'd already been preparing for the worst. For her face to turn, for her to seem colder, disgusted, to run away from me screaming. And she'd done exactly that, hadn't she? Well, she hadn't exactly ran away screaming, but she may have well done it.

In a funny way, I think I've been preparing myself for it my whole entire life. For people to run away screaming at my fucked-upness, to reel in disgust. Thanks to my mother, especially, how she left me, how she killed herself, hadn't she practically done that? Abandoning me for good?

With Ana, it's been so different. I've never opened up to a woman like I have with her. Revealing what happened to my Mom at a young age, my fears of being abandoned, my fucked-up pantie sniffing habit that she's made me develop. Showing her my Anabilia, telling her what happened with my Mom when she killed herself, which was something I'd never said out loud to a woman before... it was a huge thing for me. I hold my knees to my chest, growling again, hearing my own animal feral noises of heartache and desperation echo around my penthouse.

But it's out of my control now. I'll give her some time to digest it- the Anabilia room- and we'll see what happens next, if I can. I can't make Ana accept me completely, Anabilia room, fucked-upness and all. But I did the right thing, no matter how painful her leaving me is. I told her the truth and let her know me in a way I haven't told anybody. I didn't lie and keep my Anabilia a secret from her, I actually showed her me, warts, skeletons in my closet and all. (Not that I have warts on my body or skeletons lying decomposing in my penthouse, of course. Metaphorically speaking, of course.)

Her words come back to me, taunting me...

 _"I am obsessively, passionately, murderously in love with you, Christian."_

I still cannot believe it. How can she say that she loves me? ME?

But that was before I revealed to her my room of Anabilia, of course. After showing her that and the way she reacted, no doubt her "supposed" love for me has vanished like dust.

How the fuck can somebody love ME, though?

Is this what I feel for her? Love? Do I love her?

I certainly think about her all the time, where my pattern of thoughts always tend to go a little something like _Ana, Ana, I'm hungry, need to sniff Ana's panties and breathe her in, food can wait another three hours, I need Ana first._ Is that love; thinking of someone constantly?

I love the way she snorts a little when she laughs. I love the way she bites her lip. I love the way her voice sounds, how she feels. The way she smells. The way she's a little strange. She seems my kind of strange- almost like we compliment each other. Is that all love, the way I feel about her?

I grab my hair and force myself to stand, walking back into my Anablia room where it becomes clear to me that she isn't returning.

It's all empty, quiet and judgmental in the penthouse, in the Anabilia room, now that she's gone. Tampon. I need to get rid of the tampon, but it'll be like amputating off my left arm, tossing out something I need, something that I've grown attached to. I don't want to get rid of it, no matter how fucked up it obviously is, keeping a used tampon of Ana's. Because if I get rid of it, it's one less piece of her. One less special piece of Ana, that she's touched, that she's physically had inside her.

But she said the tampon was a major issue for her, and I swore I'd get rid of it, didn't I? If that's what it takes, throwing out a fucking used tampon so that she'll come back, then it's worth it, isn't it?

I want her to come back. No, I _need_ her to come back. What's the big deal, throwing out a stupid fucking old dried bloody tampon of hers if it means she'll possibly come back to me?

It's worth it, isn't it?

 ** _APOV:_**

Two years later. No, just kidding, its actually been three very long days since I last saw Christian and he showed me his room that he called Anabilia, but it certainly feels like it's been two extremely long, very difficult and sad years.

I'm surprised I've even made it through three days, because the pain... Well, truth is, I've sort of tried my hardest not to acknowledge it. I've pushed it deliberately to the back of my mind, to the point where I just feel completely numb and as though I'm just existing and going on, not so much living. I'm just existing right now.

I feel like a zombie as I start my shift at Clayton's. Not so much a true zombie, like I'm tempted to bite everyone I see in sight and taste their brains. But I mean like a walking-talking zombie, like brain-dead, not truly feeling anything. Little things almost cause me to slip up and have a little emotional attack almost though.

Like going to the grocery store yesterday and walking past the personal care aisle. Kate and I needed toothpaste, and the instance I laid eyes on a pack of tampons, it very nearly crumbled my resolve straightaway.

I just don't know what I'm doing exactly. I've had time to think about it, a good think due to space and having been able to process it a little more, what happened with He-Who-Shall-not-Be-Named-For-Sanity-Reasons (Not Voldemort, of course, but C...). Now that the dust has settled a little and I feel as though I've actually worked through my emotions, I'm about quite accepting now, and humbled, by his Anabilia.

His demonstration of devotion, of dedication. Sure, the used tampon was pushing it way too far, but now that I've actually properly accepted it, I actually find it super attractive and romantic.

Needing space at the time due to being icked out by my own blood-covered tampon had seemed reasonable. But now, I can't help regretting leaving so quickly, especially when I had basically promised You-Know-Who I wouldn't run or call the police.

Work at Clayton's is just too dull right now. It isn't distracting enough, and my mind starts wandering off, thinking about how Christian looked when I saw him last. How desperate and upset he looked that I was leaving, how he practically was begging me not to leave. My inner Gollum, who I've been ignoring, wakes from his virtual coma at the thought, crooning agonizingly for his precious.

Oh, no, no. Don't go there. I feel that familiar tight ache in my throat, my eyes watering a little. I've been trying to stuff it down and so far, I'd been doing well for three whole days. But now my inner Gollum has been revived, and now he's pining for his Master. Taking a deep breath, I focus on scanning a bar-code on a toilet plunger for the customer in front of me where I am at the sales register.

We seem to have an increase of customers buying toilet floggers lately, I think to myself, blinking back against numb tears as I bag the customers purchase quickly. I wonder if everyone in Washington has been having constipation troubles and it's clogging up their toilets? Gross thought to wonder about, I know, but it serves to distract me well as my inner Gollum starts shrieking sadly in my chest.

 _Master hasn't called us in days, Master doesn't miss us. But we wants him, we misses our Precious. We needs to call Master. Call him, call him,_ my inner Gollum begs me. _Call Master Precious! We wants our Precious, but our Precious has not contacted us, but we needs it! We needs to try contacting our Precious!_

I toss my head a little to get my inner Gollum's voice to go away. But it's true. Christian hasn't so much as tried contacting me, and though I've wondered whether to make the first move or not, I've been unsure whether to. I'd thought he'd at least try calling me, but he hasn't. He hasn't even so much as texted me. Does that mean he's moved on? Did his throw his entire Anabilia out? Is he out right now, meeting some other woman, collecting things of her now? I hope not, I'd be totally devastated if he was!

I feel ill at the thought of him being Paul Spector and going online, purchasing some photographs of some new woman he's moved onto now. Has he thrown me away, just like he has that gross used tampon he collected of me?

By the time work finishes, I consider and am totally tempted to do a drive-by past his workplace. What? Admittedly, I haven't been entirely good these past three days.

While I haven't contacted him and have tried not to have a mental breakdown, I have driven all the way to the Grey House building on the off-chance of possibly getting a glimpse of him while he leaves work. So far, I've been unsuccessful. I haven't even caught him leaving or entering the building once. I just need to see him, even just one look. Just to make sure he's alive, even. I really do wish he had a Facebook account. It would be so much easier keeping tabs of him that way.

When I get to my car, I decide to do my usual trip, which is driving to the building to park there and sit for over half an hour out of the hopes of catching a glimpse of him. If not and if I fail to see him like I have the past other days, then I'll just drive home, not before detouring to the grocery store to grab my dinner for the night, which has consisted of an entire tub of Ben & Jerry's Vanilla ice cream.

My diet has gone to crap these past few days. Kate's been worried, but at least ice cream has calcium in it so I won't be entirely deficient. Ice cream seems to soothe both my heart and my Inner Gollum's mournful cries.

I start the long drive towards where he works, feeling antsy and agitated. I swear, if I don't see him today, I feel like I'll truly go Alex Forrest-Fatal Attraction. I just need one little glimpse. Just a short peek of him. Three days has been too long to go without seeing him.

Half an hour later, once I get to the tall building, I find my usual place to park out front, settling in. It's better parking directly out front, because that means I can monitor who comes in and out of the building and missing Christian, that's unlikely where I'm parked. I open the glove compartment, finding my trusty comforting beanie hoodie, sliding it on over my face, covering my ears over with its warm wool. Something about wearing the beanie makes me feel good, like I'm going incognito.

I hardly think Christian would recognize me if I sit in my car, wearing a dorky fox beanie with little flaps for ears and a nose. I'm safe, invisible to the outside world. No one can see me.

Ten minutes goes past with my eyes glued to the rotating glass entrance to his building, where people walk in and out, none of them my precious Christian. I'm starting to wish I thought of buying a tub of ice cream beforehand, because, like I said, since what happened, my diet has gone to crap. All I can seem to stomach is Ben & Jerry's Vanilla ice cream and I haven't eaten since last night and I'm starting to feel hungry again.

I find myself nibbling on my thumbnail as I watch anxiously for any sign of him.

Just when I start to fear all hope is lost, it finally happens at last. The rotating glass spins and, hairy fiery Satan's balls, there he is!

Christian pushes through the rotating doors to come to a stop near the entrance, dressed in his pristine dark grey suit with a green striped tie. My heart races in lustful glee as he looks around, distracted as if he's searching for someone, and while I'm happy to get a glimpse of him at last, I also feel rather depressed that he appears unaffected and healthy. Our three day separation has obviously not affected him as much as it has me. Does he even miss me at all? Or has he moved on? God, even the thought alone, it's unbearable.

Then I see her, at the same time he does. It's like he has shot me, beaten me, when I see her wave and come towards him.

A soft sound of outrage escapes me as he smiles and comes to meet her, too. She lifts up on her high stilettos to peck him on his cheek. It's a woman with wavy blonde hair, wearing an all-black, too tight skirt and blouse combo. When she turns, I get a better look at her face. It's HER! The Mega-Beast! The Cow! He's seeing HER! Why? Why her?

 _Kill! Kill!_ my Inner Gollum barks out like a cough. _He's our Master! Master belongs to us!_

A loud bleeping noise suddenly comes from my car, and I gasp, startled. I hadn't realized that, while staring at her and at Christian being pecked on the cheek by her, that I'd accidentally slammed my fist down on the horn. Just my luck, it's enough to somehow put me in a very awkward situation.

When I go to glance back at them, I realize Christian is looking right at me, right through the window of my car. The Mega-Beast is looking too, looking from Christian's face, back to my car in confusion, while Christian's face appears to turn a little ashen, like he's in shock or something. It's funny. When I first saw him step outside the building, he had looked so carefree, so as if he wasn't missing me. Now, he looks as though he's in as much emotional turmoil as I am due to our separation.

 _Crap, I think he's recognized my car. Damn me and damn my car's loud horn for making him notice me parked across the street!_

Without thinking and in a panic, I switch on the car, getting the engine going. Christian has just escaped the Mega-Beast's clutches and is about to cross over to approach my car by the time I stomp on the gas and floor it out of there at lighting speed.

* * *

My heart is still beating frantically as I pull into the grocery store to grab my dinner. I just cannot get over what happened, how Christian had looked, especially when seeing that Mega-Beast woman! What is she to him? And why did he let her peck him on the cheek?

It's frightening, how territorial I felt just by her simply kissing his cheek alone. But that's me when it comes to Christian. No one else is allowed to have him, even if we aren't on speaking terms right now. I just hope he isn't seeing her now. I'm frightened what I might do if he is seeing the Mega-Beast romantically. He's just not allowed to.

Breathing deeply, trying to calm myself down from how shaken I feel, I finally gather my wits, enough to climb out of my car to head into the store. The man behind the counter stares at me, almost pitifully, as I push inside, heading towards the ice cream section. Belatedly, I realize I'm still wearing my ridiculous fox beanie still, but oh well. It's comfy, no matter how silly I look.

I just cannot believe how stupid I was, honking the horn like that! Christian saw me, I know he did!

It's a little nippy in the frozen aisle. I shiver, yanking the beanie down more over my ears and cheeks as I reach in to grab my Ben & Jerry's tub. Someone moves near me, and as I look at them while snatching up a vanilla flavor tub greedily, I feel my heart stutter, my mind going blank in shock.

 _Holy cheese crackers!_

"C-Christian?" I stammer very eloquently in confusion, while at the same time, the tub of ice cream slips from my frozen fingers towards the floor.

It all happens so quickly. First, I'm just staring frozen, utterly shocked into the eyes of Christian, who must have followed me somehow to the grocery store in his car, and then, next instance, I'm making an embarrassing mess of myself. The plastic container of ice cream breaks the second it collides with the hard floor in the grocery store.

Ben & Jerry's vanilla ice cream splatters and sprays on the floor at both of our feet, making me gasp and redden in mortification. A few dots soil Christian's no doubt expensive, polished leather business shoes. God, what is wrong with me?

"Oh, no," I whine down at his shoes, reddening even more than I thought was possible. Before I know what I'm doing, I start to kneel down, "I am so sorry! I will personally scrub those clean myself!" _Because I would do anything for you, even be your shoe-scrubbing slave! Can't you see that, Christian?_

"Ana," he begins, his voice frustrated, like I'm irritating him. "Stop. You don't need to-" He stops, sighing heavily.

Reaching out, Christian grasps onto my shoulders with both hands firmly, stopping me. I straighten, peering up into his gray eyes again. _God, how I've missed his touch, his eyes, his face._ I don't even know why he must have followed me to the grocery store, but I can't deny I'm super pleased that he did. Even if I am being awkward and I smashed a tub of Ben  & Jerry's ice cream all over his shoes.

 _Master has returned to us!_ My Inner Gollum is screeching in glee. _Master needs us! Our Precious, oooh!_

"W-what are you doing here, Christian?" I blab over that voice. "Did you follow me or something? W-why did you...?"

I press my lips together hastily, inhaling in deeply through my nose as I shake my head. I don't understand at all. What about the Mega-Beast? Did he just up and leave her to follow after me? I almost break out laughing widely at the satisfying thought. _Ha!_

He's still gripping onto my shoulders. He hasn't let me go. He's not letting me go. That's a good sign, right? I scrutinize his face closely, wanting to restore his gorgeous face in my mind and memory. He's got a little stubble happening, like he hasn't shaved for three days straight. It isn't a complete bushy beard, but he definitely looks good either way. _Mmm, I wonder what it will feel like against my skin if I kiss him!_

"How are you?" he asks, and I realize I'm just being weird, staring deeply at his face like a creeper while not saying anything. I force myself to hold his gaze, rather than staring anywhere else, so that I at least seem a little normal. But his eyes roam across my face himself, slowly, attentively, as if he's somehow trying to restore how I look, too?

 _How am I, though? Seriously?_

"Um, I'm... really great," I lie quickly, because if I say that I'm downright miserable, he'll probably think I've gone batshit crazy. Better to seem normal, right? "I mean, I just dropped ice cream all over the floor and ruined your shoes and what's worse, is that I'm totally considering licking ice cream up off the floor because that's what I've basically been subsiding on these past few days," I bumble out without thought, then cringe. _God, shut it! "_ So, yeah, I... I'm great. H-how are you?"

"I got rid of it," he murmurs, confusing me. He got rid of it? Huh?

"Um, what do you-?"

"The tampon," he adds a bit too louder than necessary, explaining. "As soon as you left, I made myself get rid of it. I threw the tampon out." Finally, it makes sense. Oh, so he got rid of the gross tampon in his Anabilia collection then?

"Oh. Did you, um, throw everything else out, too, as well as the tampon? Like the... the hair and the...canvases?"

"No, but I wasn't sure if you wanted me to get rid of it all? It was just the tampon, Anastasia."

Something catches my eye from behind him. I see an elderly woman, frail and moving slow with her trolley, glancing over at us from where we stand. She gives me a rude look, like she's eavesdropping on our conversation. It dawns onto me how strange this must be for her, hearing Christian say he threw out a tampon of all things, but maybe she shouldn't be eavesdropping in the first place?

His fingers slacken on my shoulder and then he reaches down, clasping onto my hand. Oh, no. Skin on skin. It's been too long. If he keeps on touching me, I know I will never, ever let him go ever again. "You look as though you've lost weight these past few days, Anastasia," Christian points out, scolding me almost.

"Have I?" I whisper in surprise. Surely not. Ice cream isn't exactly non-fattening. My eyes fall on the light stubble around his chin, his mouth, mmm. "And you look... hairier than you usually do," I admit senselessly. _Oh, God. Hairier? Is that all I can come up with?_

"Hairier?" He repeats quietly, and I see the corners of his mouth lift, like he's trying to suppress an amused smile. "Can't say I've been told I look hairier before?"

"No, I... I mean, you look... furry since I last saw you," I explain hastily. "I mean, with the... stubble. Not hairier as in mountain bushy man hairy, just... unshaven." Wow, is this as awkward for him as it is for me? "So, are you, um, seeing her now?" I get out sharply before I can stop myself. I just desperately need to know.

"Seeing who?"

"That woman you were meeting up with?" The Mega-Beast cretin?

"Elena?" he asks in surprise. "No, of course not. She was just..." He pauses, as if he's having difficulty searching for the right words. "I was... finding it hard to cope. I thought that perhaps she could help me put things into perspective, that I could... talk to her." Talk? Put into perspective? "These past few days have been shit," he adds tightly.

Shit? What an understatement. How about double shit? Triple shit?

"In fact, I'm fairly sure I'm going through withdrawal symptoms. I can't eat properly, I can't... sleep. I can't think of anything else." I'm not so sure what he is trying to say, but tightening his clasp on my hand, Christian reaches up, touching my knuckles to beneath his chin, where it's definitely a whole lot prickly and stubbly. Mmm, feels good. "And, as you can see, I can't even find the motivation to shave," he adds with a tight-lipped smile, showing off those dimples that I've missed.

Oh, no. He's so adorable, it makes me want to cry. My precious! Mine, ooh!

"Um, I should go," I get out hastily, yanking my hand free. I know I'm on the verge of crying and it'll be embarrassing, bawling in front of him. "Well, go after I pay for the, um, tub of ice cream that I've dropped on the floor anyway." No, no. Don't cry. I've gotten this far.

Kittens. Dogs. I try to distract myself with some mental imagery. Toilet floggers.

"I'm talking about you, Anastasia," he continues, his voice sincere, heartfelt. "These past few days, they've been shit because of... being without you. The reason I can't think, eat, shave... it's because of you."

 _Oh god, I miss you too! Marry me? Let me have your babies? "_ Christian, I-" He's saying the exact same things I feel. I can't eat anything but ice cream because of how badly I'm missing him. I haven't even laughed in two entire days.

"I'll get rid of it. _All_ of it, if that's what you want?"

"What?" I gape at him in confusion.

"You know..." His voice drops to a whisper as he glances behind us, realizing that the elderly woman is most likely eavesdropping. He turns back to me with a heavy sigh. "The... the Anabilia. The hair, the... pictures. I'll get rid of it all, if that's what you want?"

"It wasn't about that at all, Christian," I admit. "It was just the... the tampon I wasn't all that comfortable with. It was the... only issue." How do I explain it to him? How... flattered yet unnerved I was? "The fact that you did all of that for me, Christian, it was... amazing. Amazingly romantic yet... disturbing."

"And how do you think I felt, seeing the folder with a piece of my chest hair inside it that you'd stolen from me? You think I didn't feel the same?"

"Well, I think chest hair is different compared to a used tampon, Christian. I mean, a _used tampon!_ It seems so... unsanitary and smelly, whereas... chest hair just falls off naturally anyway?" We really should be doing this in private, rather than airing out our dirty laundry in public, in a small grocery store of all places. I am pretty sure the old woman is listening to us argue about my used tampon and Christian's chest hairs. "When did you buy all those canvases Jose did of me?" I ask curiously, changing the subject. I really do want to know.

"Since I first found out he had them on his website."

"And Paul Spector? Is that, like... a name you always use when purchasing online while trying to be anonymous?"

"Something like that, yes."

I still cannot believe he was Paul Spector _all along_. And yet, there was a part, deep down inside of me, that hoped it was him that had brought them. "You paid two thousand dollars for all of those pictures? That's a lot of money for pictures of me?"

"Well, it was worth it, paying the money," Christian says, making a face. "The thought of some pervert looking at you..."

"What an ironic choice of words," I mutter, unable to not smile at the irony. _Christian's a pervert. But an extremely welcome pervert, mm._

" _Another_ pervert that isn't me, I mean, Anastasia. I thought that I was the... 'lesser of two evils', you could say."

I know I really should be disturbed that he has all those pictures of me in that room, yet I can't be. I wonder if he does naughty things to himself while staring at my pictures. I'm not innocent, of course; I do use my rabbit vibrator while staring up at his poster on my bedroom ceiling. It's almost exciting, imagining him doing stuff to himself while staring into my canvases' eyes.

"Have you had dinner yet?"

I bite my lip, glancing down at the disgusting milky melted mess on the floor. "Actually, my dinner's on the floor going cold."

Christian raises his eyebrows at me. "Ice cream?" he asks in disbelief. "Ice cream was your dinner?"

"Hey, don't knock it. Ice cream makes very good dinner."

His mouth flattens out into a thin, unhappy line as he shakes his head. "I'm taking you out to dinner to have something more substantial than ice cream." He holds his hand out to me and, because it's him, my dream man, and we're talking again, I take it willingly. "We need to talk more anyway."

"Okay. Let's eat and talk."

 **Sorry if this one was disappointing and not as humorous, hope you are all well and that you had a great Easter (though it's late, sorry). Hope it wasn't too disappointing. :) Thank-you. Not sure if the sites gone a bit weird itself, but having trouble with posting the chapter. Just reposted it, sorry!**


	27. Chapter 27

**Thank you for being such an awesome group of people. I always fear this story is too crazy so I am flattered by such a nice response from you all. :D Hope you enjoy this one.**

 **Chapter 27**

The restaurant we head into is nice and cozy, and I notice Christian's holding onto my hand tightly, as if afraid to let me go. Or, maybe that's just me hanging onto his hand tightly. Can't really tell who the hand-clinger is in this situation, but all I know, is that it feels incredibly good. It's like we're a true couple, all loved-up, holding hands. He's all mine again, after three full days of ice cream dinners and misery.

"I haven't been here in a while," Christian mutters to me as the woman shows us to a table through the dining section. "I think what they do here, is that they have a three-course meal option where we eat whatever's on the menu for the day."

I'm not so fussy about what we eat, really. I'm more so just over the moon that we're together again. Everything feels all right in the world again, just like how it should be. _Me, and him, together..._

Christian releases my hand to pull my chair open for me at the table, and my hand literally mourns the contact. Trying to seem normal, I sit, glancing up at the waitress as she waits for us both to sit. I notice her looking Christian over carefully, admiring him. _Girl please, he's mine!_ Although, I suppose I cannot blame her. He does look extra good in his suit with the stubble he's rocking. _Mmm._

"Here's tonight's options," the woman explains, still staring at my man as he sits opposite me while she hands him the menu. I may as well not even exist.

"Excellent. We'll have all three-courses." He doesn't bother looking at the menu.

Three courses? Damn, I'm not even so sure I can eat three _entire_ courses.

"But we'll also have two glasses of the Pinot Grigio," Christian adds, using his I-am-boss voice.

"Great. I'll be right back with your drinks." She gives him a lingering smile, but to my relief, Christian doesn't seem to notice. I flush with pride when I see him staring right at me. _That's right, I've got that man trained!_

"This is nice," I comment, looking around the room.

The table is decorated with white linen table cloths and purple orchids, which I think are fake. I spot a couple sitting at a table a few meters away from us, and I notice they have a baby with them. My mind drifts. It's funny how clucky I've started to become, simply now when I see babies and couples together. I wonder what Christian and my baby will look like, if it will have good Grey genes. I bet it'd be adorable.

"What are you thinking?" he asks curiously, tearing me out of my cluckiness. _Oops._

"Oh, you really don't want to know," I admit with a nervous laugh. And it's true; He really wouldn't. I know he'd make an excellent father, though.

"Yes, I do. Everything that you may be thinking about interests me."

 _Oh, fudge._ I flush when he stares at me, waiting. Crap, he really wants to know. He doesn't want to drop it. What to say without freaking him out over the fact I fantasize about what our babies will look like in the future, and regularly?

"I'm just wondering if they'll end up having ice cream on their menu for desert," I say, the first thing I can come up with, no matter how lame it sounds. "I'm hoping not. I mean, I think it's safe to say that I've had my filling of ice cream for the past three days, wouldn't you think?"

The waitress returns with our glasses of wine, thank goodness. While I still feel a little bit catty that I caught her ogling my man, I can only be thankful that she's saved me from having to answer his question.

"Thank you," I murmur, and Christian and I both reach over, taking a sip of our wines at the same time. He holds my gaze, staring deeply into my eyes as he swallows. _What I would give to be that mouthful of wine._ He licks his lips afterwards, setting his glass back down on the table. _Yum._

"So she's a business partner?" I can't help asking about the Mega-Beast. I want more answers, damn it.

"Elena? Yes."

"And you were meeting her after work today?"

"I was going to, before I saw you and followed you to the grocery store, yes."

Hmm, not too sure how I feel about that. Well, _of course_ I'm pleased he ditched the Mega-Beast to follow me. But how he said he was going to talk to her? How she'd help him put a few little things into perspective? What things?

"And you were going to talk to her?" He's not very vocal. I feel like I have to wheedle it out of him. It's frustrating. "About us?"

He must know he's in trouble by my tone. He straightens up in his chair, eyeing me warily. _Smart man._ "Yes, I talked to her about us. About... what happened, when you left. How it made me... feel."

My blood boils. "Did you even tell her about your Anabilia room?"

"Yes, I did. While we're business partners, we're also friends. I... talk to her about things."

Wow, so he _even_ told her about his Anabilia room? They must be serious friends then. I don't like it. "Is that something you do often? Go to her when you're seeking someone to talk to? Someone to... 'help put things into perspective'?"

"Yes." At least he's being honest with me. I still don't like it, though. "She knows it's... unusual for me. What I did."

"Collecting things about me?"

"Yes. She knows me well. She knows that I've... never been like this with anyone else before." _Damn right, he's never been like this with anyone else before,_ I think bitterly. _There can only be me. It's because we belong together._

"You didn't think you could talk to me?"

He brings up a hand to run his fingers through his hair. "Ana, you walked out on me," he mutters in frustration. "You said you needed space to think, remember? So I gave you it. I gave you your space, no matter how... shit it felt to be without you."

Aww. "Ditto," I murmur sadly. "It felt shitty for me too, Christian. I mean, obviously." I gesture towards the fox beanie I'm wearing. "I mean, _look_ at me."

"Admittedly, I didn't exactly keep my word in giving you space, though." He smiles at me, somewhat guilty and glumly.

"Huh? You didn't?" I definitely didn't notice him doing drive-by's past the apartment. I know for a fact that he wasn't breaking in through my bedroom window, because I would have known (and who am I kidding, if I had, I would have totally welcomed him in!). Or did he?

"I stalked your Facebook page probably a hundred times since I've seen you last," he explains, and it all suddenly makes sense. Oh, so he's been checking in on me on my Facebook account? "I know you said you wanted space, but I couldn't help it. Also, I regularly checked your Tweets these past few days as well." It's like it's helping him, getting this all off his chest. "Also, I might have saved a Facebook picture of you in just a bikini as my screen saver."

I can feel nothing but relieved that he has done all of that. My heart seizes in relief, because, it's just affirmation that he's been through hell like I have. "I did a couple of drive-by's past your work," I admit, sort of guiltily myself. Seeing as he's being completely honest, I figure it's only fair that I am too. "I never saw you, though. Aside from today, of course, which you know already..." I shrug, reaching for my wine glass again.

"I guess we're both pretty equally fucked up then, aren't we, Anastasia?"

"Not necessarily," I mutter in defense, swirling my glass a little before taking a sip. "I don't feel it's fucked up if we both enjoy it?"

Christian stares at me thoughtfully and then we're interrupted by our entree. The waitress sets our plates on the table. It looks like some sort of pumpkin soup or something. Steam hits my nostrils and it smells good, pretty flavorsome. Maybe I will be able to eat after all?

"Your entree. Pumpkin soup," the waitress explains happily, confirming my suspicions. She leaves us without another word.

Christian grabs his spoon, beginning to eat greedily, like he hasn't eaten in days. When I start filling my spoon with the soup, slurping it in hungrily myself, I realize that it's sort of pitifully true. Neither of us have been eating much these past three days, if what he said about being unable to eat is true. It's truly no wonder then, that we're stuffing our faces like impoverished children. _How sad, though. I made him lose his appetite. He stopped eating because of me._

We both end up eating in silence, devouring our soup. Then once we're done, that waitress appears again to collect our dirty dishes, telling us second course will be out in ten minutes.

"Soup was nice," I comment weakly. "Guess we were both as hungry as each other then."

"I meant what I said, Anastasia." He exhales out through his mouth loudly while dabbing around the corners of his mouth with his napkin. "I truly haven't been able to eat or feel motivated ever since what happened. I feel like my appetite has only just returned to me, so pardon me if I inhale everything in in advance." _Inhale everything in? Mm, he can inhale me anytime, day or night._ Gee, I have some serious problems.

"Me, too," I admit quietly. "I meant it too, Christian. My appetite has literally been AWOL these past few days."

"I noticed," he mutters curtly. "You definitely look as though you've lost a few pounds." Wow, it's like he's scolding me for losing some weight unintentionally all because I was grieving! It isn't like I could help it!

"Well, I don't even know how that happened, because I've seriously been binge eating on ice cream. Ice cream's been the only thing I could stomach." I can't help remembering how he looked when Mega-Beast went to meet him at his workplace, how happy he looked. He actually smiled! "You looked pretty happy when your friend showed up at your work to meet you?"

"Well, as they say, appearances can be deceiving," he says, a little sullenly. His voice goes rougher, shakier, like he's feeling particularly emotional right now. "I've been anything but happy. Besides, you assured me that you wouldn't leave me and yet, you did."

 _Oops, he's right._ I _did_ assure him that I wouldn't leave once he showed me what he wanted to. That was mean of me. "Well, I'm sorry, Christian." I try to hold eye contact, so he knows I mean it. "I guess I just... I wasn't thinking. I was acting out on impulse."

"I _said_ I'd throw the tampon out when you made it clear it was an issue to you." I don't think I've ever really heard Christian get so mad before. I can tell he's struggling not to raise his voice. It must have really affected him, me leaving, I realize. "I was going to throw the tampon out the instance you said it was an issue, Anastasia. Plus, it was covered and safely sealed in plastic."

Someone clears their throat awkwardly near us, and we about both glance up at the same time in surprise. Oh God. The waitress has returned holding our main course, and she's obviously heard everything Christian has just said; About tossing out the tampon, how it was covered in plastic. I redden when she drops our plates down. She looks as though she's trying to hide her disgust.

"Um, main course," she spits out hastily. She darts a look at Christian quickly before she racing away, out of eye-shot. God, embarrassing much?

I glance down at the hot meal, trying to figure out what it is seeing as she never told us. It's pink meat, some sort of... salmon maybe? With what looks like asparagus and beans? When I peer up at Christian, I realize he mustn't have taken his eyes off me once. _God, I must have really hurt him. My poor baby._

"Like I said, I... I'm sorry, Christian," I mutter, feeling my throat tighten. Oh, no. I think I'm about to cry.

"Did you mean it?" he asks me suddenly. I have no idea what he's even talking about.

"Mean what exactly? About how I wanted you to throw out the tampon?"

"No, Anastasia. About what you said." His voice is low, tinged with anxiety. "You said something to me, something about..." He pauses, breaking eye-contact. He swallows loudly, and he looks suddenly a little ashen, like he's come down with sudden nausea. "You said you were passionately, murderously in love with me?"

Now I think _I'm_ the one who feels nauseous. "Oh, that," I whisper.

 _What the freaking frack? How can he ask whether I meant it or not?_

"Of course I didn't mean it, Christian," I mumble sarcastically, reaching for my glass again. Gee, what does he think I am? "I just go around telling random people that I'm in love with them just for the fun of it." I roll my eyes at my wine before taking a sip.

"So you meant it?" he asks quietly, doubtfully.

"Yes," I say, a bit too loudly and emphatically. It's just so frustrating that he has to ask. " _Of course_ I meant it if I said it, Christian. I _do_." I try to meet his eyes, though it's not easy. How do you tell someone you love them in a perhaps freaky way without feeling like you want to advert your eyes?

"How?" he demands, shaking his head a little.

"How? How what, Christian?"

" _How_ can you love me?"My God. He appears so vulnerable, so disbelieving. How can he ask me that? Seriously?

"I can't answer _how,_ Christian," I admit, thrown by his reaction. "Honestly, it would take me all night if I had to explain _how_." I stare at him, waiting, almost begging for him to say it back. Tell me you love me too. Tell me, right now. Say it.

Only he doesn't. He looks down at his plate, avoiding my gaze. And ouch, that fudging hurts. But I know he loves me, and I refuse to believe otherwise. I refuse to let myself feel disheartened right now. He has to love me too, because what about his Anabilia? Isn't that demonstration enough? Plus, we belong together. Of course, he loves me. He just isn't ready to say it right now. _Or well, that better just be it._

Trying to distract myself from the depressing turn of conversation, I pick up my fork, pulling apart the pink meat. I take a bite, and yep, it's definitely salmon. Just like I thought. _Go me!_

"I have a function to go to this weekend. Something business related," Christian begins speaking again, his voice measured, somewhat distant. _Okay, well, this is really awkward._ This doesn't hurt at all. I tell him I do love him, that I meant what I said, and now he's speaking about business, completely avoiding the topic altogether? "I want you to come with me."

"Okay," I mutter down at my food. I cannot bear to look at him right now.

"As my girlfriend," he adds, and it's then, I muster the courage to lift my gaze, surprised. _As his girlfriend? What?_

"I thought you said that you don't do the whole 'girlfriend-boyfriend' thing?" I mutter, imitating him. He uses that excuse often, so why the change of heart now?

He glances down at his plate quickly, before meeting my eyes again. He looks nervous. Apprehensive, even. "Well, I do now, Anastasia."

Despite how hurtful it was seconds ago, my heart can't help bursting with hope, with happiness.

I remember that time when I asked him what this was between us, I tried to get us to define the relationship. What's changed?

"I suppose these past three days have been an eye-opener for me," he continues, his expression sincere. "I've learned what I want. And what I want, is you. As my _girlfriend_."

 _Girlfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend!_

"Will she be there? The Me-" Oops, I stop myself just in time. "I mean, Elena? Your business partner slash friend? Will she be there at the function?"

"She will be."

"Good," I murmur, pleased. I want to meet her. And, hopefully, make it very clear that she needs to back the hell off and stop molesting my man's cheeks with her lips. _His cheeks are mine!_ "I'm glad, though," I add happily, shoving a forkful of salmon in my mouth.

"Glad about what?"

"That now you're seeing me as your girlfriend. Admittedly, I already saw myself as that." I smile up at him nervously. Who am I kidding? I see myself as more than his girlfriend. His wife-to-be, his soul mate. His freaky kinky partner. The wife who bears him his children. The Mommy to our children. I could go on and on... "I've already been thinking of you as my boyfriend anyway." Well, that's a nicer way of putting it. Something tells me he'd be a little freaked out when I not only see him as my boyfriend, but my husband-to-be, the daddy of my children. Regardless of his Anabilia collection or not, I'm positive I'd freak him out a little.

"I've been slow on the uptake then, haven't I?"

"I guess you have been." _Silly-billy, Chrissy._

"You know what I feel like doing, Anastasia?" I sit up, listening attentively as Christian places his fork and knife back down against his plate. There's something there in his grey eyes. Something naughty, deviant.

"What, Christian?" I ask, trying to sound deliberately innocent and confused. Two can play along. "What do you feel like doing?"

"To be honest, I feel like forgetting all about eating. Instead, I feel like throwing you over my shoulder and carrying you into the men's bathroom."

My ovaries seem to come alive at his words. He puts both elbows on the table, leaning towards me, like this is all a secret, naughty game. Which it is, really. My inner Gollum moans at his words.

"Then what?"

" _Then_ I feel like shoving you up against the wall, yanking down your panties, and sniffing you in, all of you." He makes it sound like such a sensual threat. "Sniffing you in... f _ucking_ hard."

I swallow at his words, at how seductive he can make it sound, how dirty. He usually doesn't swear all that much, but holy cheese-balls, swearing now, he makes it sound so exciting, so sexy. Along with my tingling ovaries, other muscles clench and awaken from their three-day slumber. _Goddamn, he's good!_

I glance around the room, noticing how crowded it somewhat is the first time since coming in here. There's people all around us, it's a family-friendly establishment, and here he is, dirty-talking me?

As I said, two can play at this. I'm down. "Then why don't you, Christian?" I ask, challenging him. I put my fork back down, leaning back in my chair, mirroring him almost. "Why don't you put me over your shoulder right now?"

"Careful," he warns, his voice going ragged. "You don't want to push me, Anastasia."

Hmm, well, to be fair, I haven't given him this weeks donation of unwashed panties. An idea comes to me. "I need to go to the bathroom," I explain, getting to my feet. It's hard not to smile wickedly to myself, but I try my best.

Christian stares up at me, blinking heavily. He looks really disappointed, probably thinking I've quit our little game.

"I need to pee really badly," I mutter to him, but I slip up, laughing to myself. I realize it's practically the first time I've laughed in the past three days. But that's probably only because everything is perfect again. We're together again, and Christian even said he wants me as his girlfriend. His girlfriend! He's my boyfriend- a step closer to becoming my husband in the not too far away future! Well, at least I hope so. "Be right back."

Ignoring him, I make my way to where the bathroom is in the restaurant. I head inside, stepping into the nearest cubicle. Locking it up, I step out of my flats, then yank down my jeans, removing my underwear. It feels a little strange and airy once I step back into my jeans, pulling them up. It feels so weird not wearing any underwear. I thought I'd be used to that airy feeling by now, especially seeing as I tend to wear Christian's baggy underwear that he gave me sometimes. Some women like wearing their mans jackets as a comfort thing; With me, it's his underwear. I just like wearing something that his privates have touched.

Grinning to myself, I stow my undies in my pocket, unlocking the cubicle. When I head to the basin, pretending to wash my hands, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I definitely look less zombified than I have felt lately. There's color in my cheeks again, and I'm grinning. I look a little dorky and childish with the fox beanie on, but oh well. Christian certainly never commented on it.

knowing I can't leave him waiting for too long, I suck in a deep breath before heading back out towards our table. I realize Christian must have been getting impatient, wondering where I've gotten off to, because he looks my way the instance he sees me while shifting in his chair, and he stares.

I press my lips together to stop myself from smiling too hard as I sink back down into my chair while holding his gaze. He arches his eyebrows at me, like he's asking, _Well?_

"Your wish, my command, Sir," I mutter playfully, and I reach into my pocket, pulling out my unwashed panties, which I dangle in the air between us by the band.

My underwear is skin colored, beige; Not the sort of flimsy sexy lingerie you wear to impress a man, but at least they aren't a pair of his tighty-whities either.

Besides, I hardly think Christian cares what my underwear looks like. It's more so the fragrance and aroma of me on them that he likes and the fact that they retain my body heat from down there in the jungle (for the time being, at least, until it wears off in a couple of minutes).

I know it's daring, and a little risky. We're in public, and I'm handing him over my unclean panties . Oddly enough, I cannot even bring myself to care. This is fun. This is our kinky freaky.

I hadn't realized how much I'd come to miss even a simple gesture as Christian luxuriating in and sniffing my panties, until now. His eyes go luminous with desire at the fact that I'm dangling my underwear practically in front of his dinner, teasing him. He's the cat, while my panties may as well be the catnip.

As though the temptation is getting too hard, Christian reaches out with his hand over the table, reminding me of a claw. And this catnip's got no chance; He's too fast, his grabbing motion. He successfully grabs my underwear and I watch, winded, as he bunches it up tightly between both hands, squeezing down on the beige fabric with his fingertips.

Looking around the room quickly, making sure the coast is clear, Christian finally indulges in his panty-sniffing fetish. And what a sight it is. God, I've missed him so much. Even sniffing my panties, it's so surprisingly sexy.

He drops his chin, closing his eyes briefly, burying his nose in my underwear. I think I hear him inhale me in deeply. I find I have to clench my legs together beneath the table.

" _This_ ," he murmurs, his voice muffled in the fabric. As he slowly reopens his eyes to peer over at me, that desire is still there, bright and strong, in his grey eyes. "This is exactly what I live for, Anastasia. These are still warm." His words are low as he emphasizes each word carefully. He inhales in again deeply. "For. The. Love. Of God." After he's had his fix, he bunches my beige undies in his hands again tightly, then he tucks them into his inner jacket pocket for save-keeping, his eyes still bright on me.

"I love that you love the smell of my natural feminine odor so much," I admit, once my breath comes back to me after watching his captivating reaction.

"Do you?" He looks somewhat relieved.

"Yeah, I... I do."

He smiles at me while reaching for his wine glass again, holding my gaze. He stares at me, even when he puts his lips over the rim of the glass, gulping some of the wine down. I have to suppress the urge to use my hand as a fan to get some fresh breeze happening on myself. _Jesus, is it just me or is it hot in this place? Somebody better open up a window quick-sticks. Or throw a bucket of ice-cold water on me, even. I'm impartial to either method._

I cannot wait to experience how it feels when he kisses me with stubble. I bet stubble makes a good skin exfoliator. _Mmm, stubble rash courtesy of Christian Grey. Yes please!_

"Um, hi." The waitress virtually appears out of nowhere, breaking the tension a little. She clears her throat nervously, looking between us. She must feel the UST between us, unless that's just me. "Is there something wrong with your meals? How are we going here?"

Christian glances at me questioningly.

"Um, I think we're pretty much done here." We haven't even eaten all of our salmon, but something tells me it's probably gone cold. Truth be told, I think neither of us have much of an appetite for food anymore. I think we see other useful things we could put our mouths to. "Are you done eating or...?"

"We're done," Christian agrees, reaching into his jacket for his wallet. He hands her his credit card.

"Oh, um. Would you like your dessert in a doggy bag to takeaway or...?" The waitress trails off awkwardly, flushing. _Yeah, she's definitely got something going on for my man._

Christian arches his eyebrows at me again. Why the heck is he making me make all of the decisions right now? It's anxiety-inducing.

"Um, sure," I say, undecided, shrugging. I have no idea if he even wants a doggy bag or not. "A doggy bag would be great, I guess. Thank you."

"Okay," the waitress says happily. "I'll be right back with your doggy bags and your receipt and card." Once she leaves, I reach for my wine, finishing the last of it off. Waste not want not.

"Is that what you wanted?" I ask Christian uncertainly once swallowing down my last mouthful, licking my lips. He's just staring at me, in a weird way that kind of makes me want to clench my thighs again. _Be calm, my poor ovaries._ "Dessert to takeaway?"

"Actually, I have something else in mind." _Holy cheese-sticks._ And the way he says it, he leaves no room for misinterpretation. I think he's made it rather obvious he intends to have dessert, but not the sweet, sticky kind. More like the Anastasia Steele kind.

The waitress appears again, not only with Christian's credit card and receipt, but our little doggy bags, as promised. Christian shoves his card back into his wallet before taking the little doggy bags from her. She watches us as we both stand from the table, eyeing Christian in a way that makes me feel like snapping at her. She's definitely ogling him, again not like I can blame her. _But gee, he's mine._

At least he isn't encouraging her. To my delight, he only seems to have eyes for me. _Ha, take that!_ He stares at me while I tuck my chair in, and it's only when we go to leave that he looks away from me. He paid no attention to the woman, and that satisfies me in probably some sick, mean way.

Out on the street, it's a little frosty again. I shift my beanie over my ears so they don't get cold.

"So, your place or mine?" I ask bluntly. What? I guess I'm a little eager for my dessert too.

He hands me one of the doggy bags while checking his watch. "I have an early meeting tomorrow morning, Anastasia, so we'll probably have to go our separate ways for tonight."

 _Our separate ways? Is he kidding me?_

"What about dessert though?" I ask in disappointment, gesturing to my lousy doggy bag. Surely he has to know I'm not talking about the edible kind of dessert, right? That I mean more so of the orgasmic kind?

"Come. I'll walk you to your car."

I stare after him glumly while he starts walking slowly ahead of me. How does walking me to my car have anything to do with dessert? Goddamn it!

My car isn't that far away. It's just a short walk in the restaurant parking lot. By the time we reach it, I'm still in a glum mood. We haven't seen each other in three days, and now he wants to leave because he has to work early in the morning?

As I grab my keys, struggling to find the right one so I can open the door, I notice Christian looking around us in the lot for some reason. Then I hear it; the very telling sign of his paper doggy bag hitting the ground.

"Oh, who am I kidding?" I hear him grumble. "Fuck that type of dessert!"

Suddenly and without warning, I'm swept up against the side of my car. He grabs my face between his hands, and then he's lowering his head down, kissing me, violently, greedily. _Oh, precious,_ my inner Gollum croons in happiness as I carelessly toss my own doggy bag of dessert at our feet. I inhale sharply against his mouth, then recover, enough to reach up, wrapping an arm around his neck as he pushes his warm tongue into my mouth.

He slides one hand up, until I feel his fingers tug and play a little with one of the ear flaps on my silly fox beanie while my tongue tentatively strokes and rubs against his, and then he makes such a sexy masculine deep moan that reverberates through his throat to mine.

Yeah, this is definitely my type of dessert.

 _Mine, mine, mine._

But then all too soon, just as we were starting to get really into it, it's over. I feel him begin to lean back, to pull away. No, no! Grasping blindly, I seize a fistful of his jacket, trying to hold him and his mouth to mine, but it's too hard, and he's too strong.

"Don't." It tears from my mouth like a mournful, greedy cry as my fingers slip around one of his muscular forearms while I try to stop him from moving. I was just starting to like how it felt, being molested on my chin and around my mouth by his prickly stubble.

"I meant what I said, Anastasia." He sounds breathless, his voice thick with what seems to me arousal. "I really do have to go, baby."

 _Baby?_ He's never called me baby before. _We like that_ , my Inner Gollum and I. _We likes that a lot._

I don't know what makes me do it, or whether it's that feral side of me coming alive again. But I stumble forward, reaching up to kiss him. He gives me that, at least- a few pecks on the mouth, yet I go one further. Like I had once before, I catch his bottom lip between my teeth, and bite down, hard. I guess I want to mark him again, just for old times sake. Mine, mine.

He makes a rumbling gruff noise of pain, and I taste his blood as he plucks his mouth away from me. I hear the hissing noise he gives out when he dabs at his bottom lip with two fingers curiously, then it's payback time. It's my turn, and Christian grabs the bottom of my jaw, lifting my chin up roughly so he can sink his teeth into my lip in blissful revenge. The pain is sharp on my bottom lip as I feel his two main front teeth sink in, and then he pulls away, pushing back from me.

Now we're both bleeding from our bottom lips. _Kinky freaky us._

"Creepy McCreeperson," I mutter under my breath, feigning playful disgust while touching my fingertips cautiously to my broken lip.

But as I get in my car and start the ignition while flicking on my headlights to see, they illuminate his face and I find him grinning down at me through the window, a patch of wet blood from where I bit him visible. _Creepy McCreeperson indeed. But he's_ my _Creepy McCreeperson._

Us, getting back together, it's exceeded my expectations tonight. Never am I ever, ever, ever leaving or walking out on him ever again. My octopus tentacles are bared.

 **Thank you again. Next chapter, The Mega-Beast Elena and Ana will end up being together in the same room. It should be interesting, I'll just tell you that ;) Thank you! XXX**


	28. Chapter 28

_**Chapter 28**_

When I get inside, Kate must hear me, because she calls out to me from our kitchen.

"I made you a cup of tea- bag out," she calls. Hmm, she's home for once. Lately Kate has been heading out nightly to do boyfriend-girlfriend stuff with my bro-in-law Elliot, so for her to be home tonight, it's unusual.

I head into the kitchen, dumping my bag onto the table and my keys as Kate watches me with a sort-of-anxious smile on her face, her hands holding out my mug of steaming tea like it's a gift.

"What's the tea for?" I ask her suspiciously, taking it from her. The tea soothes my fingers as I wrap my hands around the mug. It's so good.

"No reason," she says with a shrug. "What? I can't do nice things for my best friend when she gets home now?"

"Well, you haven't made me tea in over three weeks, Kate?" _And yeah, I've been counting._

"I've just been... worried about you, that's all. I thought you could do with a nice soothing cup of tea when you got home. I've noticed you've been acting a little... down these past few days." Damn, just when I was starting to hope my grieving for Christian was kept private and had gone past her. But no, Kate never misses anything. "You look... better now?"

"I am, Kate."

"What was going on with you? You went weird the past couple of days, moping around by the TV watching Fatal Attraction on repeat while eating ice-cream?"

Yeah, she's definitely more observant than I thought. How to make something up rather than telling her about Christian's room of Anabilia and how we separated briefly? "I just I came down with some sort of stomach flu or something," I mutter lamely while lifting the mug, covering it over my mouth in case I break out grinning, ruining my own lie. "I had real watery diarrhea yesterday too, Kate, so that's probably what it is."

"Oh." Her voice is anxious as she runs her eyes over my face slowly. I guess I've surprised her. "Why didn't you tell me you were feeling sick? I could have made you soup or something?" _This._ This is why I know that Kate and I are the real deal. I am so lucky to have her; She's a true friend. She isn't like Sarah in high school at all. "Are you and Christian still... doing whatever it is that you're doing?"

"Yeah, we're still together, Kate. _Of course_ we are." Tonight's events come back to me, and I struggle not to sigh in blissful happiness while slurping my tea. He's my _boyfriend_. He invited me out to a dinner with him as _his girlfriend_ , where it's likely I'll meet the Mega-Beast cretin. Can life be anymore perfect than it is right now?

"Good then. Because I thought maybe that's why you were acting funny? I thought maybe something might have happened, and you were feeling a little... sad because of him? I'm glad it's just a stomach flu then, but you should have told me!"

Oh, no. Now I start to feel really bad. "Well, I sort of wanted to spare you all of the gory details, Kate," I tell her sheepishly. "I sort of thought that telling you all about my watery diarrhea and bloating would be a little too much for you to handle, best friend or not."

"I guess that's true." After a moment, Kate shivers in disgust. " _Watery diarrhea_ though? Sorry as I am for you, I hope it's not contagious and that I don't get it. Elliot's expecting me to see a movie with him on the weekend and I _so can't_ get watery diarrhea right now, no offense."

"It isn't contagious and I'm better now. I _promise_." Better seems an understatement. Now that Christian and I have resolved things, I am more than better. I am ecstatic. Over the moon, ovaries-exploding euphoric. All of that.

Taking in another sip, I realize how careless I'm being. It stings, and it takes me a second to realize it's because Christian bit my lip tonight. _Mmm, his teeth biting my lip._ Rubbing my tongue over the sore spot, I wince a little.

"You getting a cold sore or something?" Kate asks sympathetically, looking at my bottom lip real hard. Self-consciously, I cover it with my hand. I hope it isn't too obvious what's happened.

"Yeah, I... I think so, Kate. My lip started bleeding for literally no reason today." Actually, it started bleeding for a very good reason tonight. I feel all tingly remembering Christian calling me baby, how his facial stubble felt so good against my skin. Damn, I need to have his babies like _right now_. He needs to propose to me.

"Anyway, I'm going to bed," Kate says after lingering around awkwardly. "I'm tired. Glad to see you're feeling better."

"Thanks, and I really am, Kate. You don't need to worry."

She holds her arms out, about to hug me, then decides against it, her arms flailing at her sides uselessly while she gives me an awkward smile. She still obviously is wondering whether I truly aren't contagious, not that I can blame her. Watery diarrhea would be like being sentenced to an early hell.

"Night," I murmur, watching her go. I stand by the counter for a while, sipping my tea in happiness, thankful for having such a wonderful, devoted friend like Kate. Then I hear my phone go off; the little telling sign I've received a text. I bet it's from my husband-to-be. Grinning happily, I grab my phone, clicking it open to read it. And, surely enough, I'm right, it _is_ from _my_ man, mine, mine, mine. My inner Gollum wakes from his slumber, stretching and cooing for his precious.

 _I wish you were as small as the pair of unwashed panties you gave me tonight. That way, I would roll you into a little ball, shove you into my pocket, and take you with me everywhere I went so that I could breathe you in frequently._

 _\- Christian._

Holy crab sticks. The words on his text seems to have some sort of magical power, awakening my ovaries and making them sing. Ordinarily, I know if another girl received this type of text from a guy, they'd be freaked out and consider putting out a restraining order. But I have long since accepted that I am not _just_ any girl and Christian is not _just any guy_. He's my dream man, and we're kinky-freaky. It's single-handedly the most romantic and sexiest thing I have ever heard. I wish I could be a pair of my panties too. _Carry me, Christian! Carry me and breathe me in everywhere!_

Yeah, I clearly still have some mental problems happening. But who doesn't?

With a swipe of my finger, I consider writing back. Even expressing my sheer happiness at us being back together, like we should be. But then I reconsider. What if it's too creepy of me and it turns him off? Instead, I just sent him a smiley face and leave it at that. There is really no need to embarrass myself right now.

* * *

When I wake up the next morning, the apartment is already weirdly empty. I find a note from Kate on the fridge, telling me that she's gone out for an early morning run. I really wish she would have told me, because I could have used a good running session this morning myself. Especially when this weekend I am supposed to finally be meeting the Mega-Beast at the event Christian has invited me to. I need to look my best, and worthy of him.

Feeling parched because I think I had been drooling in my sleep and all my saliva had wet the pillow I was sleeping on, I head to the sink, grabbing a glass of water. Then the door buzzer startles me from the front of the apartment. Who could that be? Did Kate lock herself out from her morning run?

"Delivery here for a Anastasia Steele," some guy says over the intercom, sounding rather bored and snuffly. A delivery? Surely it's some sort of mistake? I haven't ordered anything online in a while. My last order had been the Grey Holdings logo mug I brought. So what the hell?

I tell him to come upstairs, buzzing him in. Then I dart towards the door as he knocks loudly, vaguely aware I'm still in my pajamas. I open it, and a guy stands there, chewing gum noisily, holding a rather large box. I accept it from him, then shut the door, confused. Did I accidentally order something while drunk in my Christian-Grey grief? The box is light. Did I finally order that underwear I'd been undecided about for a while now, the one's that had Christian's face printed right near the crotch?

Inside, I discover fortunately that it isn't the Christian-face panties. But there has to be over thirty long-stemmed real red roses tucked inside the box. How impressive... and beautiful. I pick one up, sniffing it indulgently. Then I notice the little box hidden beneath the roses. My heart stutters as I reach in, grabbing the box. _Holy fuck. Is this the moment I finally become engaged to my dream man?_

Admittedly, this isn't how I pictured it. Christian shouting the question at me from a microphone in front of a large crowd of random people was more like it. But this will have to do.

Sucking in a deep breath, I push the little vinyl jewelry box open with shaky thumbs. My heart seems to deflate. While it isn't an engagement ring after all, it's sort of... better.

A necklace. Christian's actually brought me a necklace. Sterling silver, with intricate looped letters, that spell out _Christian's_.

Wow. For someone who said he doesn't do the whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing, he's done something extremely boyfriendly. No guy has ever brought me flowers before, or a necklace with their name on it, no less; Something possessive, something demonstrating that I'm there's. It's sweet.

I find his name in my phone under 'HUSBAND', pressing dial. I have no idea whether he's at work right now or not, but I guess I'll find out very shortly.

He answers on the first ring. "Good morning, Anastasia." Hearing his voice alone, how he pronounces my name with that curling delicious caressing tongue, it's hot. How he manages to get me going just by simply saying good morning, I have no idea.

"Um, good morning," I mutter, feeling weirdly shy. "I just thought I'd call and say thank you for the lovely flowers I've received. It was a nice surprise to wake up to."

"You like them?" I may be mistaken, but he sounds relieved.

"Like is an understatement, Christian, really. I love them. For a guy who says he doesn't do the whole 'boyfriend' thing, you've really gone above and beyond with all the flowers."

"Well, I'm nothing if not a hundred and ten percent thorough in most things, Miss Steele."

"Clearly." There's an awkward silence where I wait for him to ask whether I like the jewelry too. Or did he not mean to send that to me? "Um, thanks for the necklace, too," I finally say.

"It was either that or you getting a tattoo like a brand on your body. I assumed a necklace would be the most painless out of the two." Freakishly, he doesn't even sound as if he's joking. If he is, it's truly impossible to tell.

"Is it terrible of me that I would be perfectly willing to have your name tattooed on my backside?" Now I'm the one that isn't joking here. I seriously would consider getting Christian's name on various parts of my body for life, because that's dedication, that's devotion.

A weird throat-clearing noise sounds off on the other line, but I don't think it's from Christian. It sounds like it's from someone almost... older?

"Are you getting a cold?" I ask lamely, unsure what else to say.

"No, I'm not. That was one of my board members, Anastasia."

 _What? Board members? Huh?_

"I'm currently in a meeting with eight associates," he explains softly. "And right now, your on speaker phone."

Holy fudge. I feel the blood drain from my face in mortification as that sinks in. _Oh, god. He's put me on SPEAKER PHONE and even allowed me to say what I did in front of people? About tattooing my ASS?_

"Um, you're... you're kidding, right?" I can only splutter hopefully.

"Unfortunately not." I hear various men in the background clearing their throats, sounding as though they are trying not to laugh, while others cough ostentatiously loud. Jesus, he's being serious! How could he do that to me?

"Okay, gee. Thanks a lot," I mutter, and I hang up speedily, my face burning again. How could he embarrass me in front of all of those people? But then I have to smile to myself. This is us, and we're kinky-freaky, I have to remind myself. This is what kinky-freaky people do.

I'm still feeling the heat of mortification when I get a text five minutes later while trying to find something to put all of the gorgeous roses in. And, who am I kidding? I'm a whole lot angry as well. I still cannot believe he dared to put me into that position, regardless of us being kinky-freaky.

 _I'm taking you out to dinner tonight._

 _-Christian._

No please. Or asking. But does he really even need to ask? Despite how irritated I am with him, realistically I would never pass up dinner with my dream man. Even if he did embarrass both me and my inner Gollum, who is hiding and whimpering beneath a rock.

By the time six in the evening comes, I've been debating on whether to just keep my pajamas on to really show him how angry I am and that I want to pass up dinner after what he did to me this morning. But then my devotion and excitement wins out on seeing him, so I end up getting changed and manage to make myself look remotely presentable. I haven't put on the necklace though.

I'm just brushing my teeth when I hear an odd noise from in my bedroom. I don't even know why it startles me the way it does, but I spit and plop my toothbrush back down into the holder, padding my way stealthily towards my room, my mindset gone into instant ninja-mode.

Because I bothered to leave the lamp on in my room, I catch his shadow from where he stands near my bedside drawer, staring down at something he's holding.

"Did you creep in through my window again?" I murmur, sounding more outraged than I truly am. I should be horrified, yet it turns me on, the fact that Christian easily can enter my bedroom. I've never pretended to be a mentally sound person.

My ovaries do a little wiggle when Christian turns to face me, dressed casually in jeans and a black button-up shirt. He doesn't answer me as he holds up the thing he has; I realize it's his necklace that he brought me, the silver chain and pendant gleaming in the soft lamp light. "You're not wearing it?" he asks, rather breathless sounding.

"No," I say shortly. I can't help it, I'm still pissed off at what he did today. "I'm not."

"Why not? You don't like it?"

"It isn't that I don't like it, Christian. I was just sort of...crabby after what you did to me in embarrassing me by putting me on speaker phone when you knew you were with a lot of board members."

His mouth curls a little as he tries to stifle down his amusement at that while he opens the small little latch on the necklace with his fingers carefully. _Yes, ha ha, really funny, bastard. But who am I kidding? He's_ my _sexy bastard, mine, mine, mine._

"So you're mad at me due to that? Due to what I did with putting you on speaker phone?"

"Yeah, pretty much." I manage to sound convincingly angry as I cross my arms over my chest. I remember a sudden flashback of when we went out to dinner, how he got me all worked up, only to leave me unfairly hanging when he knew I was aching for a different kind of 'dessert'. "Not to mention, what you did last night still has me pretty mad, too."

"What I did last night?" he repeats, confused. His bold gray eyes finally lift as he squints up at me.

"Yeah, how... we were both feeling up to 'dessert' and then you left me hanging."

"Well, what are you going to do, Anastasia?" My ovaries do another little dance as, looking all feral and sexily murderous, Christian starts to slowly walk towards me. "What are you going to do now that I'm here, and you're still mad at me?"

 _Hmm, it's a really good question._ Now that he's here, having broken into my bedroom window, just the two of us, what _do_ I want to do to him? I inhale in deeply, thinking my answer over as he stops to stand right in front of me, his eyes peering deeply down into mine, his hands outstretched in front of him, fingers playing with the necklace. _God, I wish he'd just drop that damn necklace on the floor already and squeeze the life out of my butt with those gorgeous hands..._

"I'll ask you again, and one more time only, Anastasia." Horrifyingly, I almost let out a pitiful whine as he leans down, putting his face so close to mine, that our mouths are literally inches away from touching. My mouth goes dry, somewhere between my legs feeling a little tingly. I know he's doing it to be threatening, in invading my personal space while looking all hotly aggravated, but damn. " _Why_ aren't you wearing this?"

I lick my dry lips as I stare down at his mouth distractedly, at the little healing scab mark there on his bottom lip from where I marked him yesterday. I lift a little with my chin, trying not to whimper, willing his lips to finally touch mine. Only it doesn't happen. He's teasing me. _Well, two can play at this, I suppose. I'm down for a little kinky freaky fun. Hell yes! Sign me in!_

"Maybe I..." I have to clear my throat, purposefully making my voice sound softer, vulnerable. I'm definitely turning into a good actress these days. "Maybe I do want to wear it, but..." I deliberately stop, biting my lip, acting hesitant.

Christian gives out a long, aggravated sigh, his jaw muscles twitching as his eyes narrow at me. "Maybe you- what, Anastasia?"

He's standing so close to me that I can feel the heat that radiates off his body. He stares at me, waiting for my answer, looking almost stern and angry. It's an extremely hot look. Apparently I'm not the only one frustrated here right now. It takes all I have not to reach behind him to squeeze his backside through his jeans. Instead, I bring my hands out in front of me, lacing them together by the fingers like a good girl.

"Well, maybe I wanted you to put it on me first?"

He leans down again, and I feel my eyes flicker closed at the sweet anticipation of him finally kissing me at last. Only he doesn't. I feel the stubble on his warm chin rub against the side of my face, his lips near my ear.

"And is that what you want me to do?" he murmurs in my ear. "You want me to put it on you?"

Why do I find him asking me that really, really hot? Well, who am I kidding? Christian could even ask me to shave his chest hairs for him, and I'd still find it a hot request. "Yes, I do," I whisper.

"Then turn around. Turn around and face away from me."

I'm like a genie eagerly granting him a wish. I turn to face away from him, my heart racing loudly like a pair of bongo drums. His arms come around me as he slips the necklace down over my throat, the silver cold against my skin. Then he uses a hand to carefully brush the strands of my long hair to the side so that they won't get caught when he closes the necklace up.

The first instance his fingertips brush against the bare skin on the nape of my neck, I'm dead, my kneecaps seeming to evaporate into jello. It's like someone has just shot me in both kneecaps, and I sag a little. _That's_ how good he is.

"Hold still," he warns, but it's impossible. My entire body seems to shake uncontrollably; a tremor darting through each thigh. My inner Gollum has awakened after three full days without him again, irritating me by calling and whimpering out nasally to his master. "Stop moving or I'll spank you so hard, your ass cheeks will be red raw. Is that what you want?"

I almost giggle out loud at his sensual threat. It should deter me and frighten me, his threat of making my backside red raw, yet it doesn't. A wicked thrill darts through me.

"All done," he whispers after a moment, his voice hoarse, only to my relief, he doesn't move away from behind me.

Instead, he grasps both of my elbows, steering me and whirling me around until I have no choice but to face him. We're standing so close, we may as well be breathing each other's oxygen in. He looks me over, drinking me in with the necklace, something bright and rather menacing in his eyes.

"Thank you," I force myself to say, and my voice sounds croaky, like I'm a frog. "I... I really do like the necklace. It's beautiful."

"Do you know why I got it for you?"

"Um, because you're trying to be... Mr Romantic, maybe?"

"No, Anastasia." He shakes his head a little, trying to stifle a smile, but there's amusement lighting up his eyes. "That wasn't just why I did it. Do you know what people will think when they see you wearing it? When they... read it?"

"They'll read that I'm Christian's when I wear it out in public?" I guess easily. Which sort of pretty much has to be it, right? People read a necklace I'm wearing that says Christian's, and it has to mean that I'm Christian's, right? _And hell yes, we_ are _Christian's,_ my inner Gollum barks in satisfaction. _Christian's, Christian's. We belongs to our precious, and our precious belongs to us._

"That's right." He lifts up a hand, and he touches the back of his knuckles to the lower part of my throat while his fingers play with the little silver pendant. "It says you're Christian's. And are you?"

I feel like someone's pet dog, panting frantically with their tongue hanging out in an overheated car at his mere touch and words alone. God, he's so seductive. So kinky freaky sexy. "Yes," I murmur, and I know without a doubt it's true. I _am_ Christian's. I've been his since I first came across him on that television interview nearly eight months ago. He just hadn't known it yet. "I'm Christian's."

"And who is Christian?" He hooks his forefinger beneath the neck of my shirt, tugging a little. This must be some sort of game.

" _You_ are. _You're_ Christian."

"That's right."

Nodding once, he grabs onto both of my wrists, without warning, and starts guiding me backwards. I have no choice but to trust him and let him, our eyes on nothing else but each other's as he walks me backwards. Then I have to stop when I feel my butt and side of my hip dig into my bed post, and then he lets my wrists go.

"And who do _you_ belong to?" I hear myself murmuring without thought as I watch him kneel down before me on his knees.

He doesn't answer as he unbuttons my jeans, then he yanks them down, past my thighs, past my shins. I have to lean awkwardly against the bedpost as he tries to get each of my ankles and sock-clad feet free, otherwise I'd be falling straight onto the floor ungraciously. I have no idea what he's trying to do. Well, I _know_ he's trying to undress me, but why isn't he answering my question?

As he lifts up my left foot, settling it down onto his knee so he can slip off my sock, I feel a terrible burning sensation inside the pit of my stomach, irritation, possessiveness. _I admitted to being his, which is true, but why isn't he admitting to being mine, because that's what he is, isn't he?_

With my day old sock, he does his thing, bunching it in his hand, then he closes his eyes, bending down, sniffing and inhaling my dirty sock in like it's a line of cocaine or something. Desire pools in my belly at the sight, at the back of his head and neck that is bared to me, while a deep reverential moan leaves his throat. He's almost like a person in prayer, worshiping a statue, with me being the statue.

Only it isn't enough for me. He _still_ hasn't answered _my_ question. Guess these past three days without him has made me a little greedy. I need reassurances.

Bending down and twisting slightly, I reach out with my hand, managing to brush the back of his hair and head with my fingers. It seems to pull him out of his reverential moment with my socks; He tosses them on the ground next to him as he lifts his head up to look at me, the muscles in his throat bunching together as he swallows, his eyes wide, confused.

"You didn't answer me?" I say, my voice uncontrollably brusque. I run my fingers through the side of his soft hair, then cup his jaw. He swallows again audibly. "Who do _you_ belong to, Christian?"

He blinks several times at my words, then his expression changes into something. Awe, maybe? Arousal?

"Ana," he finally says, but it comes out too low, too quiet.

"Who?" I demand, and my fingers tighten instinctively as they curl around the side of his warm jaw. His stubble feels rough and prickly beneath my fingertips. _Mm, I wonder how it will feel against my thighs._

"Ana," he repeats, loud enough this time. "I belong to Ana. I'm Ana's."

"And who's Ana?" I ask, playing dumb like he did. Two can play at this.

"You," he answers, and he hisses through gritted teeth. I realize immediately why when he grabs onto my hand that's cupping his jaw while rising to his full height, wrenching it away. As he stands, I see a few little moon-shaped red incisions beneath his jaw, most likely from my fingernails. _Oops, I was being too rough._ "I belong to you just like you belong to me, Anastasia," he spits it out like a man talking dirty and rough, and then combining action with the words, he grasps onto my shoulders, then pushes me backwards onto the bed.

I fall back onto my springy mattress like a cliff-diver, my head bouncing on and off my pillows.

I find myself being that panting dog again when he unbuttons his shirt quickly, like a man short on time. Then he flings it off somewhere on the floor, and gets straight into undoing and unzipping his jeans.

"Take off your other sock and your shirt," he orders. Like a good doggie, I do.

I stare into his eyes while toeing off my last sock, then I grab my shirt, yanking it up over my head. I toss it on the floor carelessly, my eyes refusing to leave him for a single second. And then we're both panting, eyeing each other, almost naked together.

I reach up, playing with the cold little Christian's necklace with my fingers as I watch him stare at me, eyeing my body. We both lick our lips, like we're getting ready to eat a meal. Mm, Christian would make a delicious meal.

"You know, those past three days without you, I had trouble sleeping, Anastasia."

 _Oh. "_ You did?" I whisper in shock. I hadn't realized I'd put him in such inner turmoil when I stormed out of his Anabilia room due to the tampon the way I had.

"I did. And then I would find myself wandering back and forth into my Room of Anabilia, and I'd stare at those canvases of you for hours and hours."

I get a vivid imagery, courtesy of my own mind, of Christian wandering stark-naked into his Anabilia room at three AM in the morning.

Christian, gorgeously naked, staring at those canvases he brought under the name Paul Spector. His hand tightly wrapped around his you-know-what, moving vigorously, back and forth, back and forth as he stares back into my eyes on the numerous canvases all over the walls...

I feel my nipples harden in glee beneath the cups of my bra as I lick my lips at the delightful imagery my mind conjures. _Mmm._

"And sometimes... sometimes I'd get that piece of hair out that I stole, and I'd stroke it, just to pass the time away." There's a vulnerability in both his face and voice that makes my heart ache. "Admittedly, I even fantasized about dragging you back to my penthouse and locking you in the Anabilia room so you couldn't run away from me ever again."

 _Oh, god. I want him so badly._ His words. He has that magical touch that gets me going like nothing else humanly possible can. I know I ought to find it a tad freaky, what he's telling me; his deepest darkest fantasies about kidnapping me and holding me hostage in his Anabilia room, but I find my reaction is the complete opposite of that. I feel almost... relieved that he's confessing this to me, that it shook him that badly, me walking out. Because although he never said it back at dinner when I had confirmed that I was passionately, murderously in love with him, they _do_ say actions speak for themselves.

I know he loves me too. He has to. He's just... afraid to say it, for whatever reason he has.

I kick at the mattress impatiently with the back of my heels when he just simply stands there, staring down at me. When is he going to finally join me already? "Come over here," I beg helplessly, uncaring how needy I sound to him. I need him over me, damn it. "I need you, Christian."

And if only he know how much I need him, and in multiple ways. I need him right now on top of me, as my husband, the sperm-father of my children. I need him in so many ways.

And I get my wish at last.

Without another word or second's worth of waiting, Christian bends over the bed, climbing over me. I feel like a buffet spread out before him, and he's the hungry businessman, nuzzling his prickly stubble into my toes, then higher, my knees, my thighs, my belly button. I turn into a withering snake hissing for him.

Then, as he reaches my bra while nudging my legs apart with his, he bends down, biting into each foamy cup that covers my breasts. He bites just hard enough that my nipples can feel his teeth pinching the fabric around them, and if they had vocal cords, my nips would be groaning and cooing in delight at his attention.

I lean up on both elbows, and as if he's reading my mind through telepathy- which wouldn't surprise me if he could, because we're _that_ perfect together- Christian reaches behind me, unclasping my bra. He flings it off and then my nips are bared to him, erect and pleading for his attention. My nipples are such Christian-Grey attention-whores, but hey, can I blame them?

Christian glances down at both of them, his breathing growing heavier. Then he pays them some loving, and my head whips back against the pillows without my control, my mouth falling open as he gets reacquainted with them. He teases my breasts, kissing the tip of each erect nip, then he goes so far as to playfully suck each one. The warmth of his mouth, his saliva...

"You both are mine, you understand?" I hear Christian murmur sternly, and for a moment there, I don't know who he's talking to. Until I lift up my head and notice him staring at each of my nips. _He's speaking to my nips like they have brains. Can that be anymore delicious?_ "You're mine, as well," he continues breathlessly to each of my elbows, and he kisses them lingeringly. "And you..." My kneecaps. " _All_ ten of you, are mine." My toes. "You belong to me, and _only_ me. No other motherfuckers but me."

I should find it somewhat creepy that he's threatening my toes and speaking to them as if they understand English and have minds of their own. Yet, just like everything he tends to do, I find it so sexy, yet oddly adorable.

Moving backwards and hovering over my ankles on his knees, he hooks his fingers around the band of my panties, dragging them down over my legs, making me exposed _right there_.

"You, _especially_ ," he says to my lady parts and garden, and I have to shut my eyes, trying to control my breathing as I hear him inhale the scent of me in through my panties.

 _God, okay. We get it. My ten toes, my two knees, my elbows, my two erect nips... we are ALL his._

"Christian, please," I whine, my eyes still clenched tight.

"Please what, Anastasia?"

"We all know that we're yours." I don't even have the time to feel sort of embarrassed that I'm speaking as if my body parts are different people. "Now please." Just as the last whine escapes my mouth, the bed squeaks as I feel him move over me again. And then that exquisite pressure, his Little Christian getting home into my Lady Part Ana Garden. I was starting to think it would never happen.

A shaky groan escapes me at the feeling, the fullness, my pelvis automatically rocking against his. Then we both start to move, and as I go to touch Christian's back, he grabs both my arms, unfairly locking them above my head. I open my eyes, seeing him right above me, and we both groan loudly, a song of grunts and pleasured moans. He eases back while staring deep into my eyes, and then without warning, he sinks back inside me again, rougher, quicker.

"Yes, faster," I cry out. "Please, I need it after... so many days away."

He blinks down at me, a sort of amused smile coming across his mouth, and then we both really get to moving. We move fast, relentless, and furiously, and somewhere at the back of my mind, I hear the springs on my mattress creak with every thrust and movement and my headboard keeps banging into the wall behind it. Desperate for more deepness, I lift up with my legs, clenching around him like an octopus, attaching my tentacle feet into his glorious backside roughly.

"Fuck, Ana, baby," he moans gruffly, and all I can seem to hear is _baby, baby, baby_ as doves coo in my ears and rainbows burst between my vision while unicorns fly around us, guiding me into an earth-shattering orgasm.

When Christian finds his own release, he cries out my name as well as _baby_ and a few other expletives, then collapses on top of me, leaning his forehead against mine, the both of us breathing laboriously. This. This is an early heaven. Me, and him, sweaty and warm, on top of each other, breathing on each other's faces. It's just how it should be. This is where we belong, with his weight baring me down, his elbows near mine.

A weird giggle-snort escapes me as he strokes his nose against mine several times, then he leans down, kissing me. We kiss for a couple of blissful minutes, sucking each other's lips, swallowing each other's breaths. Then, all too soon, he shifts over, rolling onto his back, moving off me. But then, just as I'm starting to feel too neglected, he reaches over, wrapping an arm around my neck, pulling me close. I lean against his warm side, my face on his shoulder-blade. Perfection.

"I thought I missed this especially," he murmurs thoughtfully after a moment.

"You _thought_?" I don't understand.

"Yes, _thought_. I thought I missed this. This, as in the whole sex thing. But now I realize, it isn't just that I was missing. The physical closeness, being inside of you. It was... _everything_. Being around you, hearing your laughter. Smelling you." As if to emphasize that point, he shoves his nose into my hair, inhaling me, Mr Thin Man all over again. "I just missed... _you_ the most."

"Me, too," I whisper, my heart clenching. "I missed you too, Christian." _We both missed our Precious,_ my Gollum croons, putting his two cents in _. We misses the touch and feels of our precious. Ooh, ours, because we needs and wants our precious._

"The instant you walked into the elevator, I thought..." He stops himself from finishing, his face troubled, conflicted.

"You thought what, Christian?"

"I thought, any second afterwards, I'd be surrounded."

"Surrounded by who exactly?" Surrounded? Huh?

"By cops. I thought an entire SWAT team would be smashing in through the windows of the penthouse, and they'd all crowd around me, forcing me on my knees, arresting me, handcuffing me, because of the Anabilia." _Wow, he really must have an overactive imagination. My poor Chrissy baby. What have I done to him?_

"You thought I was leaving to call the cops?" I say in disbelief. "Even although I swore I wouldn't put a restraining order out on you before you showed me your room with the... the canvases and the bloody tampon?"

"I honestly did." He sighs loudly, licking his lips, that troubled expression still there. "But then, the longer I waited, the... more I realized it wasn't going to happen. You truly hadn't called them."

"I _meant_ what I'd said at the time, Christian. Nothing you could ever say or do... would ever make me call the police on you or put a restraining order out on you. I can't believe you thought that!" He runs his fingers slowly through his hair, and I can tell he doesn't quite believe me. Gee, what can I do to convince him? What can I possibly say?

"Are you still coming with me to the dinner function?" _What a way to change the topic. Smart man._

"Yes, I am." It's been on my mind ever since he asked me, to be honest. I cannot wait to meet this business partner of his that he confides in, the Mega-Beast. If she tries to do anything or attempts to take Christian away... Let's just say I'll be reenacting a herd of elephants that are ultra-protective of a new baby elephant while the hungry lions approach for slaughter. For lack of a better word, it'll get messy. The Mega-Beast may risk being squashed and trampled all over on. _Damn, I've really been watching too many wildlife documentaries._ "What should I wear?"

"What your wearing now is perfect." At that comment, a short laugh escapes him. I rarely do hear him laugh very much, but when he does, it's adorable. It lights up his entire face, making him look boyish. Not to mention it lights up my ovaries and vag, like the sound alone is instant foreplay. The man should laugh more often.

"Oh, sure. I'm sure everyone would be happy if I turned up at your side, completely naked with my butt-hole showing."

"No, I'm kidding, of course." I feel all melty when he bends down, planting a kiss on my temple while snaking his arm tighter around my neck. I begin to feel nicely squashed into his warm, naked side, like he's holding me extra tight in a possessive way. "The mere thought of someone else seeing your body..." I feel him shiver a little at the thought. "No one else should see you but me. Any fuckers that do-" I startle when, suddenly, he claps his hands together loudly, aggressively, making it echo around the room "-I'll slay them. I have a Black Belt in karate and I'm extremely good at boxing."

"Ditto," I murmur. Then make a face. "Well, not at the Black Belt and boxing part, of course."

"No, whatever you choose to wear will be fine. Something casual yet dressy."

"So, that means no mini skirt and tube top, I'm guessing? No strippers uniform like a bra and G-string?" I'm joking, of course. I _think_.

Another breathless chuckle escapes him. _Yay, go me! I'm on fire tonight!_

"Appealing as the imagery is of you in a mere G-string and bra, no. Not in front of other people."

His words give me a lot to think about. There's an edge there, a definite possessiveness. He's equally as possessive as I am about him, I realize. He has to be. Then again, I suppose the necklace stating that I'm Christian's truly speaks for itself.

* * *

 _I pour some olive oil into the pan, cranking up the temperature on the stove. Then I readjust my white-and-black apron around my neck, making sure my hair curlers are in place before getting into slicing a few carrots. A little girl talks in the background, her voice high-pitched and excited. Who is this little girl? And why does my kitchen look so old, as if I've stepped onto the set of an old 50's house wife movie?_

 _A door slams far, far away from in the distance. Then, his voice._

 _"Guess who's home?" Christian?_

 _"Daddy!" I turn in time to see the little girl scooting off the chair, and she's like a miniature Christian-and-me, laughing excitedly, dressed in tiny green shorts and a warm pink puffer jacket. Her hair is a mixture of both Christian and mine's color, and as she toddles to the doorway, she stops with a shriek, glancing up at something._

 _My heart explodes. Christian stands there, dressed in a fine suit, holding a briefcase. The look on his face- the sheer happiness, the laughter he makes as he looks down at the little girl with something similar to adoration, to love- it takes my breath away._

 _He drops his suitcase and falls down to his knees, opening his arms wide. And then the little miniature ChrisAna runs into his arms, laughing even more. She squeals when he blows a raspberry very loudly into her cheek, her small arms flailing around his neck._

 _"Look what I found today in your special room, daddy."_

 _"What?" He gasps, feigning exaggerated confusion as he squints at her. "What did you find?"_

 _As the little girl curls her arm back, she shows him the toy she's magically holding. It's a doll. A Barbie doll, with something black and furry on its head._

 _"Oh, no," I hear Christian murmur, somewhat embarrassed yet humored at the same time. "I thought I locked Daddy's special room up? How did you get in there?"_

 _"It wasn't locked," she says, almost proudly. She waves the doll around his face, causing Christian to wince as she almost smacks it into him. "Isn't she pretty? She got Mommy's hair!"_

 _"Yes, she does!" I realize what the little girl means when Christian finally glances at me behind her shoulder, raising his eyebrows. My hair. She's found that piece of tangled frizzy hair that Christian stole from my hairbrush, and she's put it on her doll. "But you know you shouldn't go into that room," Christian adds, his voice gentle yet scolding. He sounds like such a good father, so gentle with his discipline. "Remember Mommy and Daddy told you that room was off limits? That it could be... dangerous?"_

 _"But Mommy's in there! She all over the walls!"_

 _"That's Mommy's and Daddy's private room."_

 _"Ana-baba-bil-" the little girl starts proclaiming, stuttering._

 _"Ana-bilia," Christian corrects easily, emphasizing the words so that the little girl can understand. "It's Daddy's room of Anabilia; a room only for Mommy and Daddy to go into when they need their adult time. You shouldn't go in there." Wrenching the doll out of the girl's stubby fingers gently, he starts trying to pry that piece of hair off, cautious not to ruin it and pry it apart. He moans loudly as he struggles to remove it, yanking at it with his fingers. "How did you even find Daddy's superglue?"_

 _The little girl giggles while turning to look at me uncertainly, holding both hands near her mouth. "Mommy said I could-" Only I don't get to hear her last words._

I'm shaking while something wet dribbles down my face.

"Ana? Whatever you're dreaming of, it's not real. You're safe!" As my eyes pop open slowly, I realize Christian is shaking me awake while lying at my side. We're in bed... my bed... not in that kitchen... the little girl's gone.

"You're safe." Suddenly, I'm blinded by my own bedroom lamp that he flicks on. I blink heavily against the harsh light, dazed. He's staring at me, full of concern. "It was just a nightmare. Whoever this Phoebe was that was hurting you, she's gone now."

 _Phoebe?_ "Phoebe?" I murmur quietly. _Who the heck is Phoebe?_

"You kept chanting that name over and over. Phoebe."

Oh. Oh. We had a daughter. Her name must have been Phoebe. What a beautiful dream to sadly awaken from. "That was her name," I whisper, my voice shaky with emotion.

"Her name? Who?"

"The little girl." I sniffle loudly, a smile breaking out over my face. "Her name was Phoebe. She was beautiful."

"A little girl? Why were you dreaming about a little girl?" he asks, his voice soothing. "What did she want? Was she trying to hurt you?" He blinks at me, trying to understand.

"Of course not. She wasn't trying to hurt me, Christian. She was ours, and she... she was so happy that you'd come home. She was laughing so loudly when you came home." The image of the little girl and Christian hugging, oh God, it makes my heart burst. It was the cutest thing ever. He was so loving towards her, so fatherly and devoted, even although she'd apparently stolen a piece of his Anabilia collection to stick into her doll. "You were her Daddy and I... I was her Mommy." I stare up at him tentatively, my eyes watery with happy tears.

"What?" he whispers; the word sounding harsh somehow, bitter like a filthy word.

Realization hits me brutally as my eyes clear up of some moisture. I can see him clearly now; His expression. He doesn't look how I was hoping he would have. No, he looks almost... disgusted? Horrified and ashen? Why? I don't understand.

"How come you don't go much on the idea of children?" I ask senselessly before I can stop myself. _Oh, god! Seriously, I have to ask him that?_

"What?" Christian props himself up on an elbow, leaning slightly away from me as he peers down at me. He's squinting, his expression both confused and perplexed. "Where did you get that idea from, that I don't go much on children?"

Crap, it's too late. I can't take it back. "You just... don't you like children? I mean, your... your unfavorable reaction to my dream just then sort of makes it seem as if you...don't like them?"

" _Of course_ I like children, Anastasia." He shakes his head several times, his mouth falling open, then closed. "Frankly, I don't understand why you're bringing this up?"

"Well, I just... I'm curious. Why don't you want to have children?"

He lifts a hand, rubbing around his forehead. I can tell I've made him uncomfortable. Way to go, Steele. "It isn't that I don't like children, Anastasia. I do. They seem to be a lot of... fun."

"But?" I prompt.

"But children are not something I see in my future. It isn't something I particularly let myself think about."

 _But what about us? What about our children? He was so cute with her, even if she isn't real. He'd make a great father, and an even greater husband to me._

"So you don't ever wonder what a child of yours would look like? What it would be like if... you had another little Christian running around?" A little Ana and Christian mixture, though of course I can't tell him that. "You don't wonder how he'd be like? If he'd... have your eyes or your personality?" _Because I do. I fantasize about our children, and regularly. And that dream just then!_

"My eyes or my personality?" He repeats, and there's a tone there that I don't think I ever have heard from him before. Or expected, no less. He sounds equally disgusted and horrified. But why? "No, I... I never let myself think about that sort of thing, Anastasia. To me, that's a nightmare."

"A nightmare? But how can you-"

"-Anastasia, you _know_ how I am," he mutters, an edge of frustration there. "I'm... fucked up. I have countless... issues. So why would I wonder about whatever poor child I'd have, a poor child who would end up with me as their father?"

"But I think you'd make a great father?" I murmur, confused. Why would he think such a thing about himself? Can't he see how wonderful he is?

"I don't want to pass my issues onto them," he mutters, like he's tasted something unpalatable. "Why would I want to do that? They say you pass on certain genes to your child, that some things are... hereditary. So why would I want to risk a child being like me? Being as... fucked up as I am, with my genes?"

"Fucked up?" I mutter loudly in outrage. This was not how I predicted this conversation going at all. "You're not fucked up, Christian! Don't insult yourself like that! Don't put yourself down!"

"It's true," he says, shrugging. He's so stubborn. "I _know_ what I am. I'm not afraid to say it."

I growl loudly through my teeth in frustration. I know there's no point in trying to get him to see reason, especially not now. And honestly, I kind of want to return back to dreamland hopefully so I can get another glimpse of us with little miniature AnaChristian's.

Only, unfortunately, when I manage to drift off, the little girl doesn't return.

 **Hey guys, sorry for taking long to update. I promise next one won't be as far away, and I'm sorry I skipped out on the Mega-Beast Elena making her appearance with Ana in this chapter. She will in the next one, I promise. Honestly, after finally getting to rewatch Darker now that it's out, and rewatching the scenes with Ana meeting Elena, I have all these numerous ideas flowing at once on how I want it to happen, so it's all a bit jumbled at the moment. Please don't hate me for skipping it on this chapter.**

 **Hope this made you laugh somewhat. :) I really do love and appreciate all of you, and am so pleased if I can succeed in getting people to laugh while reading, or amused at the very least. Sorry if it's too crazy again. I suppose writing this shows I'm crazy (and somewhat weird) haha. Thank you all!**


	29. Chapter 29

_**Sorry for taking so long to write another chapter. Hope you are still enjoying the silliness lol.**_

 _ **Chapter 29**_

When I slowly awaken, I stretch out in bed, expecting to feel Christian's warm skin meeting my hand beside me.

It's a brutal wake up call when my hand meets nothing but the empty bed sheet beneath the covers. Oh, no. Christian's gone. He probably left after feeling creeped out by our conversation last night due to my dream. My dream of our gorgeous little girl Phoebe and how he was such a great father to her.

My inner Gollum wakes from his slumber properly before I do, scratching his head with his moldy, grey nails, his blue eyes wide and perplexed. Noticing our Precious Christian is gone, he covers both hands over his ears with a shriek.

 _Our Precious, he leaves us. He leaves us,_ my Inner Gollum croaks out in despair. _But we wants it here, we needs it here! We must have the Precious! The world has stole it from us. Sneaky world. Wicked, tricksy, false world!_

My Inner Gollum needs to take a chill pill. It isn't like he's deserted us. He probably had to go to work or something.

Sighing loudly, I flop over onto my back, staring up at the ceiling. Last night comes back to me, Christian's bizarre overreaction when I asked him about children. I just don't understand his fears.

He's worried that any children he have would turn out like him, with his genes. His fear is a little unwarranted and silly, in my eyes. The man has wonderful genes, and I know he'd be an even more wonderful father. Any children that we do have together- like our dream daughter Phoebe- will be so adorable. How can he doubt that?

 _Holy shish kabobs._ Now I think I know what its like to be clucky and to want to be impregnated by a particular man's sperm.

I'm only 22 and yet, here I am, dying with sheer need at the thought of having Christian's sperm babies. It's funny how when you meet your perfect man, you know right away that you both are destined to create beautiful babies together.

I never used to be accepting of the idea of becoming a young mother... until I saw Christian on that NBC interview on The Today Show.

It was like, seeing him in that chair while he was being interviewed, my mind and heart and my ovaries especially were like _'Boom! I am so becoming that man's future wife and am going to have his future sperm-babies'._

I wonder if he believes in circumcision when it comes to having a newborn son... As for myself, I'm not totally sure what I believe in, as far as newborn circumcision. I suppose I've never really had to consider that before.

My thoughts are interrupted when I hear a strange noise coming from out of my bedroom. I hear porcelain plates clattering together. Hmm, is Kate home? Is she making herself a green smoothie for breakfast or something?

But then I hear a voice, a very masculine voice from in the area of the kitchen as someone says "Fuck!" like they've just hurt themselves or done something epically wrong.

Unless Kate has had gender reassignment surgery in the last ten hours or has had testosterone shots, I can't see how her voice can get that deep and male in such a short time frame.

My curiosity winning out, I force myself to crawl out of bed. I shove on an old T-shirt and a pair of Christian's Calvin Kleins that he gave me a couple of weeks ago. I'm really starting to love wearing Christian's underwear. They're just so spacious and breathable because, obviously, I don't have a pair of grapes and a sausage hanging floppily down below. But they just feel so good and airy!

I hear another noise, a loud bustle of pans and cooking utensils clanging together. Is someone trying to make music in our kitchen by banging and clanging pots and pans together with a spoon?

It's a little cold at the time of the morning and my nips feel a little tender and pokey. I cross my arms over my chest as I sneak barefooted to the kitchen area. What I see there, it's just.. _. holy Satan's Hairy pair of balls!_

Christian! Christian is standing there, in the kitchen, naked, while he tries to cook something. I know he's naked because, instance I stop by the door frame with my shoulder leaning against it, admiring him, I am greeted first thing by the pleasant sight of his bare back and muscular shoulders. He's tall enough that naturally the kitchen counter doesn't completely cover all of him.

Glancing lower with my eyes, it doesn't take a scientist to see that he's letting it all hang out. _Literally. Mmm._

His perfect, unmarked gluteus maximus (hey, if I need to get scientifically correct here) greets me as he slaves away, whisking something loudly in one of the pots Kate and I share. He's stirring fast and vigorously, and it makes his ass cheeks gyrate a little as he stands over the stove. _Mmm, what I would willingly sacrifice to be able to have one moment where I could bite down on those perfect ass cheeks. Maybe even slather a bit of cream on them to lick off lovingly._

 _Mmm, peaches and cream._ My stomach gurgles loudly at the thought. It ought to be a crime, how perfect even my dream man's butt can be. I never knew, until now, just how much I appreciated Christian's ass. It's droolworthy. _Literally._ Almost as droolworthy as the fact that he's acting domestic and husbandly while nude, slaving away over the stove.

My Inner Gollum is immediately soothed and appeased over the sight. He did not leave, after all. He's here, in the kitchen, cooking. And judging by the stench, I think it's safe to assume something is burning.

"The fuck," I hear my dream man mutter in confusion as he continues whisking. "Why is it sticking like that?" Then, as if he remembers something, he says to himself, "Shit, the milk!" And he abandons the pot to run to the fridge.

He still hasn't caught me watching him while he snatches the carton of milk out of the fridge. I hear the telling sign of the stove being switched off as he removes the pot from it. Then he pours a huge amount of the milk into the pot, and starts stirring again vigorously.

 _Damn, there is something fascinating about watching the man cook, even if what he's cooking smells weird and burnt._

"Okay, it's not sticking anymore," I hear him talk to himself in relief. It seems so odd watching Christian Grey, man of my dreams, being anxious and flustered while naked cooking in the small kitchen Kate and I share as roomies. It's almost like a dream, a deep dark fantasy. "I think it's safe to say that it's done."

Turning to the plates he's set out on the counter, it's then he sees me. Oops, I've been caught.

"Good morning, Mr Grey," I mutter, feeling shy for some reason as he stares at me. "The bed was cold and lonely, so I assumed that you'd left already?" I push off the wall, slowly approaching him to see what he's made. It smells really, really bad, bless him. Like burnt vomit or burnt hair or something. "What are you making?"

"Breakfast," Christian explains, and I think I notice him flush a little. _Holy crabsticks, is the man nervous about revealing his cooking creation to me? Considering how badly it smells, I sort of can't blame him..._ "I thought I'd make us some scrambled eggs."

Oh, so it's supposed to be scrambled eggs. He dishes out while avoiding my gaze, his cheeks still flushed a little. It's obvious he didn't realize you have to stir the milk in gently while it's still warming on the pot, because when he spoons out a glump onto one of the plates, the milk runs out of the eggs, making the plate all damp. Poor man. It's obvious cooking isn't his strongest suit.

"Go easy on me, but... I haven't made scrambled eggs before," he says quickly while spooning the rest of it out onto the other plate.

And yeah, it's rather obvious he hasn't. It looks inedible and cold. It doesn't even look hot at all. It's as if he's just cracked a few eggs, let the stove-plate warm them just slightly in the pot, then he's poured in the cold milk, while not letting it settle in or cook properly. In fact, on closer inspection, the eggs still look white, stringy, and grossly under-cooked.

"Well, actually, I never cook," Christian finishes, moving away to place the pot in the sink. " _Ever_."

 _Yeah, and I can notice,_ I feel like retorting beneath my breath.

Only glancing up at his face, at how anxious he looks and stressed, at how he breathes shakily through parted lips while analyzing his food creation with embarrassment, I realize he doesn't need me to rub it into his face and make him feel worse than he probably already does. It's the thought that counts.

And he thought he'd try make us scrambled eggs for breakfast, even although the man doesn't cook. Ever.

How adorable is that?

Besides, the man can't be perfect at everything. He has to have some fatal flaws and, apparently, that fatal flaw is cooking. Fortunately for him, I have wicked cooking skills. We compliment each other and I know that's why we'll be the perfect pair of husband and wife once we get married. I'll do the cooking so he won't starve, being his devoted housewife making sure he gets all his vital nutrients.

"You didn't have much food in your fridge so I had to make do with using eggs," he mutters, and I catch an undercurrent of anger there. Oops.

"Um, yeah, that's probably because Kate and I haven't gotten around to grocery shopping yet. Kate's mostly been the one eating normally while I've been subsiding off Ben & Jerry's ice cream." I cringe while inspecting his creation closely. There looks to be little green or black bits. "Oh, wow. And you've clearly put oregano or kale in there, too? I didn't know we had any herbs?"

"Actually..." Christian inhales deeply while reaching up, rubbing around his forehead awkwardly. I think he's actually managed to break out into a sweat. "I forgot to put the milk in before it got too late and I didn't think to put oil in the pan either. It stuck so... it's probably charred bits of metal pan in there rather than herb or oregano." He's the one to cringe that time after admitting that.

Holy balls. My ovaries flutter at how embarrassed and ashamed he looks. I find it far too adorable than I probably should. The man really needs to get his sperm into me before my ovaries explode of spontaneous combustion. It's obvious the man is great at sexy time kinky-freakishness and kissing, and everything else in general. It's just cooking that he's out of his element from. Can he be anymore adorable? Seriously!

"Well, thank you," I whisper gratefully, grabbing a spoon. "You really didn't have to go out of your way to do this."

"Well, for the first time in all of my near twenty nine years of life, I had a sudden inspired urge to try cook breakfast."

"I love it. Thank you." Grabbing the nearest plate, I scoop some liquidy milk and egg onto the spoon I brace myself as I peer up at him with a forced smile. I really don't know if I can manage to do it, but sometimes a girl's gotta do what she's gotta do to make her man feel better. "It looks yummy," I add, trying not to gag. It looks anything but yummy, but we all have to make sacrifices.

He stares at me with burning, grey anxious eyes as I finally bite the bullet, scooping the food into my mouth with the spoon. Oh, god. My stomach churns at the texture of cold milk and even colder, squishy under-cooked egg.

"Mm," I moan deliberately loud, then I force myself to swallow. The instance it goes down, I can feel my throat wanting to bring it back up again. I have to bite down on my lip quickly to hide my shiver of disgust at the taste. It's really, really bad, bless him. "It's _so_ good!"

Obviously emboldened and relieved by my lie, Christian finds courage to grab his own spoon. He shoves a bit of cold milk and egg onto his, then I watch as he thrusts it into his mouth, swallowing it down quickly. The most gorgeous disgusted look comes across his face as he clenches his eyes shut, his brows furrowing.

Then he reopens his eyes to look at me, blinking slowly. He obviously can't contain his disgust as well as I can for the taste. I try not to laugh as he grabs his plate hurriedly.

"Yeah, don't eat it, Anastasia," he warns me, and then he tosses his into the bin. "That was fucking disgusting! I can't cook for shit!"

"That's not true," I murmur sympathetically, but I don't protest when he grabs my plate to dispose of it as well. I tried, I really, really did. "You just need practice, I guess. It's the thought that counts." While he busies himself disposing of my plate, I see it straight behind his shoulder.

Oh, shit. My _Grey Enterprises Holding_ mug is sitting on the counter, free and exposed for his eyes to plainly see. Has he seen it already? Does he find it freaky of me and obsessive, the fact that I purchased a mug online on E-Bay to support his business?

"Er... coffee?" I ask, rushing around the counter to get to the mug before he does. I manage to squish past him while knocking the mug surreptitiously away with my elbow. To my relief, it fits perfectly behind the large assortment of teas I have on the counter. "Coffee or tea instead?"

 _Yeah, I know I'm probably overreacting. He has a room dedicated to me with all of his 'Anabilia' after all, but... still._

I relax after he agrees to the cup of coffee, not having seemed to have noticed the mug after all. Or well, if he has, he doesn't mention it. Thank god.

After drinking our coffee, I head into my bedroom then into the bathroom to get changed. That's when I notice my toothbrush has mysteriously vanished from its place in the old cup where Kate and I keep our toothbrushes. What the hell? Did my toothbrush just suddenly sprout legs and run away?

"Um, Christian?" I call in confusion while shoving my jeans on. I don't bother changing out of his underwear. Now that I've worn them for a while, they feel so nice and warm and spacious.

"Hmm?" He calls back.

"Um, have you seen my toothbrush by any chance?" Great, now I can't brush them and they do feel a little fuzzy. That aftertaste lingers from the eggs he made.

"Your what?" He pushes through the bathroom door just as I'm shoving my shirt on. All he does as blink at me slowly in confusion while raking his fingers through his hair. Hmm, how strange.

"My toothbrush has mysteriously vanished?" I repeat, eyeing him carefully. _Did he take it? For his Anabilia? Is he scouting for more trophies?_ It's the only reasonable explanation I can think of, because I know my toothbrush was there last night and the likelihood of it mysteriously growing legs and becoming an animated object is next to impossible. "I could have sworn it was in the cup near Kate's toothbrush?" I jab my finger at it while still watching his face suspiciously for any telling reaction.

"I don't know, Anastasia. Frankly, I can't remember noticing a toothbrush in here?"

I stare at him while he stares back at me, not even flinching guiltily or breaking eye-contact or anything. _Damn, the man is good at keeping a neutral game face though. He's got a real good poker-face like nobody_.

"Are you accusing me of stealing your toothbrush?" Christian demands suddenly, and I feel myself redden. Oh, no. I must sound like such a cretin.

"Um, no. Of course not. I-I just thought it was strange?"

"Well, I didn't steal your toothbrush, Anastasia, despite what you might think." Oh, crapola. I think I've insulted him.

"Um, no, I-I didn't think that-"

As he turns to exit the bathroom, I see it, the instance he walks out. There, in the back pocket of his jeans, poking out freely, is my toothbrush. The bristles are facing towards his backside, and it rubs against his jean-covered tush as he strides out. _Lucky bristles, mm_. I know I ought to be enraged that he dares to lie when the evidence is there, plainly for my eyes to see, in the back pocket of his jeans.

Only for some reason, my irrational, doting side that adores everything about this man pops out to smile and feel flattered at his behavior. _Aww, he stole my toothbrush for his collection. Better that than bloody tampons or hair from my hairbrush, after all. The man is learning._

Actually, on second thought...

I find my hairbrush, inspecting it closely for any sign that he's plucked old strands of hair off it. I think he has. I definitely remember a huge chunk of knotty hair being yanked out to stick to my brush just a mere two days ago while brushing it. It hurt like a bitch when it did and the little fuzzy brown bit is definitely gone now. Did he steal that as well as my toothbrush?

It's funny how it's just mysteriously vanished as well, that hair. And I know now that he loves to take my hair for his collection.

But that's what happens when your kinky-freaky, I have to remind myself, shrugging it off. We're kinky freaky and that's what kinky-freaky lovers do.

I bet couples do this all the time. It's totally normal.

* * *

I end up sleeping over at Christian's penthouse for two nights, because tomorrow, we'll finally be going to this work function that he invited me to as his girlfriend.

I can't help wondering about it while we eat dinner; A stir-fry thing that was already cooked and prepared, keeping cool in his fridge. All he had to do was heat it up and put it into two separate bowls for us.

It's really yummy, beef with vegetables and some kind of soy sweet sauce, but it's obvious he never cooked it. Someone else cooks for him, obviously because, as I discovered when he had his little burst of cooking inspiration at my apartment, he can't cook even if his own life depended on it.

But tomorrow. Tomorrow, we'll finally be out at this work function thing together. I feel rather nervous and queasy just thinking about it, because I'll finally meet the Mega-Beast, his working partner. This Elena woman. I hope she knows he's mine. Anyway, long story short, I have a lot of preparing to do for tomorrow.

I want this woman to see that Christian is mine, and that I'm totally worthy of him, that he belongs to me and that I own him. The woman better back off and not get too touchy feely with him or else she'll be sorry. _She'll truly meet my Inner Alex Forrest then..._ I hum bemusedly at the thought while inspecting the piece of red bell pepper speared on my fork.

Then I turn my eyes to Christian while shoving said pepper into my mouth, chewing slowly. He's eating himself, right next to me, while we sit on individual stools near his kitchen counter. I notice he won't look my way. He'll just shovel beef into his mouth or take compulsive sips of his wine moodily. He's been like that all day, sadly.

He's been acting strange. I think it started ever since he cooked and failed for me at my apartment that morning. I can't help feeling this distance between us, but I don't know why. Have I done something wrong? Is he mad at me or something? Why the cold shoulder? Or is it just his ego has been crushed all because he couldn't cook me scrambled eggs properly?

"This is very nice," I mutter, hoping to melt the glacier between us. He looks at me out of the corner of his eye, then nods swiftly down at his food. Why so frosty?

"I never cooked it," he mutters aloofly. "My housekeeper and chef Gail did. Mrs Jones." I can't help getting the sense that he's embarrassed again over his disastrous cooking incident in front of me. _But can't he see I don't care that much that he's unable to cook?_

I sigh loudly as I reach out, taking a sip of my own wine in the glass that he gave me. He definitely picks good wine, but still. This is so annoying. "What's crawled up your butt?" I mutter in frustration before I can stop myself. I'm just so sick of this!

"What do you mean?" he asks, and then he shifts slightly on the stool, looking back at his backside in the jeans he's wearing. I know he's doing it on purpose to be silly. "I don't think anything's crawling up my butt? Why? Can you see anything?"

 _My toothbrush that you stole was crawling up your butt when you shoved it in the back pocket of your jeans..._ I think to myself but don't say out loud. I pretend to look at his butt contemplatively myself.

"I meant that figuratively, Christian," I point out. "I know there's not anything literally crawling up your butt right now. But you've been acting strange all day?"

"Have I?" _Hallelujah._ For once, he actually meets my eyes and holds them. He's been avoiding me all day, I know he has!

"No, actually, you've been acting weird for longer than one day. Ever since you tried to cook breakfast for me that morning, those scrambled eggs, you've been acting strange? Distant almost?"

I hear him sigh loudly as he drops his fork loudly into his bowl. He rubs around his forehead with his fingers.

"If you think I'm judging you because of your incapability to cook, then your wrong," I whisper beneath my breath truthfully. I feel that's it. He's ashamed for not being able to cook me meals. "I don't care at all, Christian!"

"It's not that," he mutters with a groan. "It has nothing to do with my inability to cook at all, Anastasia. But thank you for reminding me."

"Then what?" I demand, shaking my head. I just don't get it. "What is it then, Christian?"

"Ana, please." He groans again in frustration, still massaging his forehead like he's getting a migraine. "I can't tell you." My stomach flops at his words. _He can't tell me? Tell me what? What the fudge?_

I think his behavior over while he sighs loudly again. Is he embarrassed about the toothbrush and the hair he took from my apartment? Is that secretly it?

"Um, is this about my... toothbrush?" I guess nervously. He turns his head to look at me, squinting at me warily. "Because I had to buy a new toothbrush, Christian, and I decided not to say anything or admit that I saw it in your pocket. I already know that you took it?"

His face falls a little. I think he's embarrassed.

"And I'm fine with you taking it," I add quickly, just in case he feels too bad. "I was due for a new replacement toothbrush anyway. So if this is about you feeling embarrassed or guilty because you stole my toothbrush, don't bother." I shrug while taking another sip of my wine.

"It isn't about the toothbrush, not really."

"Then what?"

"I really..." He inhales in through his mouth deeply, wincing. "I really prefer not to say."

Oh my god. What is he keeping from me then? What can't he say?

I drop my own fork, my appetite lost on me. And then I have a weird urge to see his room again. "Fine. Have it your way then." I stand from my stool, then start walking out of the room.

And then I hear his panicked, startled voice.

"Are you leaving now?" What? Where did that even come from? Fudgesticks.

I stop walking and turn in confusion, finding him standing right behind me. What? Was he going to run after me? Considering the way he's panting heavily and the way he looks so stressed, his chest heaving as he breathes shakily, apparently so.

"Please don't..." he suddenly begs, and the fact that a grown ass man can look that desperate, that worried over the idea of me leaving. "I'll tell you soon, Ana. I-I just-"

It crushes my heart. And awakens my ovaries, I may as well admit. They wake, stretching tenderly down below, cooing for sperm babies.

"I just want to see your room, that's all. I wasn't running."

"My room?" His brows furrow at me as that fear slowly evaporates from his face. What forms there next, is confusion.

"You know, your... Anabilia room?" I haven't been in there since the first time I saw it. I find myself wanting to see it again. "I just... I want to see it again. Can I?"

Both understanding and relief flits across his face. "Of course," he breathes.

"Thank you." He follows me as I approach the room. The doors closed. When I go to open it, its locked. Which explains why he's following me... "Do you always keep it locked like this?" I ask curiously as I move back, watching him grab the key to open the door.

"I do," Christian confesses, inserting the key. "It's... sacred."

"Sacred?"

"No one else is allowed to go in there but me. And you."

He moves back after opening the door to let me go in. He looks so anxious, so tense, as if he's afraid I'm going to do a runner again. Which hell no, I'm not. I just want to see it again.

I walk in, and it's dark, like a dark creepy dungeon. But then a light flickers on; Christian must have found the light-switch. I feel like I'm seeing it all over again for the first time, and I gasp as I head into the middle of the room.

Memories of the last time flow through my head. I wince at recalling how hurt he was when I ran out. I'd really hurt him, my poor baby. My... My... Distracted, I move towards that little glass cabinet again. To my relief, there's no bloody sopping wet smelly tampon this time. No, in its place, is my toothbrush. And some more knotty hair- just as I suspected. He had stolen them for his collection.

I lift my hand, running my fingers along the cool glass of the cabinet as I walk beside it. "That makes a lot of difference," I whisper with approval.

"What does?" Christian must be standing close behind me, like a zookeeper keeping watchful eye in case he needs to sedate me at the first chance of getting violent and running. His voice is right near my ear.

"The absence of that smelly old tampon," I explain. "It's a lot better now."

Reaching the end of the cabinet, I turn, looking up at the wall. My face looks back at me. So many, many faces. Paul Spector. Two thousand dollars for all these canvas portraits of me posing and doing stupid faces.

"Unnerving," I breathe out, staring back at my own face. I don't love myself, I'm not some girl who thinks she looks so great posing and doing weird faces. It's disturbing seeing my face right there, on those walls, so many of me.

"What?" I feel his breath fan across my throat, across my ear. "Just like with the tampon, Anastasia, if it-"

"- No, it's just... looking at myself," I explain quickly. I don't want him to get the wrong idea. "I just... I don't like looking at myself, really. It's a little... weird. It's just like you when you said you don't like looking at pictures of yourself, that you don't like Googling yourself." I turn to look at him, and yes, he is standing close to me, both of his hands tucked deep into his pockets. We're basically breathing in the same bubble of oxygen because he's standing so close. "Why did Paul... I mean, you as Paul Spector dish out two thousand dollars for pictures of me? That's a _ludicrously huge amount_ of money, Christian!"

It does not go past me that I'm chiding him for spending so much money on the portraits when, really, I ought to be chiding him for the room in general. I'm presuming any normal, sane person would.

But hey, why pretend? I'm not sane or normal.

He shrugs nonchalantly as he drags his eyes over to all the portraits himself. "I was going to offer fifty thousand, but... I thought that may be a bit too conspicuous."

Fifty thousand just for heaps of pictures of me? What planet is he on?

"I thought that it would be suspicious if I made an offer for fifty thousand, as Paul," he explains quickly, and his expression softens as his eyes take in all of the photos. "Christian Grey is one of the richest men in Seattle. I think Rodriguez would have been suspicious if Paul offered him fifty grand freely, wouldn't he?"

It's as if he's missing my point. It isn't so much about that at all.

"That ones my favorite," he adds, and he removes a hand out of his pocket, pointing to one of the pictures. Now I'm one following him as he strides past me towards the huge wall with my faces. It becomes clear which one is his favorite as he gestures again, closer to it. It's a hideous picture of me laughing. He bites his lip, as if considering. "Well, frankly... it's hard to pick between all of them. That ones a close second." He points to the one beside it, of me making a ridiculous duck face. Duck face is the only word I can seem to aptly describe it as.

"You really think all of these are worth two thousand dollars?" I ask out loud in shock. If it were me, I would have paid a meager fifty dollars for all of them, because, well... they're just me. "I think somebody got ripped off, Christian," I tease meaningfully.

"I was going to put one of them on the ceiling above my bed, but... reconsidered it's appropriateness," Christian carries on, as if I haven't spoken.

But what the fudge? Put a picture on his ceiling of my face while he sleeps in bed?

"Then there's the issue of it falling down onto my face during the night. It would probably smash. And, to be completely honest, if I'm going to have something fall onto my face, I'd prefer it to be the real thing."

Huh? I make a face up at him in confusion. The real thing? He wants me to fall onto his face?

"Um, what... what's with the mannequin?" I ask, deliberately changing subject. I'm torn between staring at the mannequin that he's dressed up in my clothes and the pairs of my unwashed underwear he has dangling up across the ceiling. "What... what do you do with it?"

"Stare at it, mostly." Christian's shoulder bumps into mine as we both walk towards it for a closer look.

Up close, I see that smudged red lipstick around the mouth again. Does he kiss it, imagining its me?

He must read the question on my face, because Christian says, "I'm not sure why, but... I put your lipstick on it." He sighs deeply as he stares at the lipstick mark contemplatively, considering it. "I suppose I thought it would look better with the actual lipstick on it that your mouth has touched. I can't remember why."

"Do you kiss it?" I blab out, because he hasn't answered my question.

Christian brings up a hand, running his fingers through his hair as his lips press into a tight thin line. I'll take that as a yes.

A little creeped out, I move away while folding my arms over my chest again tightly. I'm not going to leave- not like last time. But still, I can't help feeling a little... disturbed.

I hear a weird camera clicking noise from behind me in Christian's area. I look to see him standing back, holding his phone length-ways out towards me and the room. He just snapped a picture of me with the camera on his phone?

Finally, I see his face as he lowers the phone. There's something there shining in his bold grey eyes. Excitement, maybe? Happiness at having me in here again? "I'm sorry, I just..." He pauses, clicking his phone off. He shoves it back into his trouser pocket. "I couldn't resist taking a photo of you in here." There's an undercurrent to his voice, something breathless, hoarse.

Um, okay? "Why?"

He licks his lips as he glances away from me for a moment, as if torn with how to explain it. He starts breathing a little louder again as he gestures with his hand towards me. "It's just... you're you, and your..." He motions towards everything else in the room, a fuzzy, distant look coming across his eyes. "There's you and then there's... you." He reminds me of an overwhelmed nerd having difficulty explaining his feelings on his latest newly purchased piece of item for his Star Wars collection. "Anabilia and... Ana." He says it with revelry, with profound emotion.

It takes my breath away in a way that surprises me. It's actually sort of beautiful.

"I used to picture you in here, all the time. Before you even knew about this and before I even first showed you," Christian continues. His eyes on me, searching them, as if trying to read how I'm taking this. I feel like I'm barely breathing. "I think it became... progressively worse after purchasing the canvases that Rodriguez was selling of you. And then it..."

Moving past me slowly, as if drugged or wrapped in his own world, Christian reaches up with his arm. He touches one of the faces of me on one of the canvases, on the cheek, his eyes clouded, lost.

"It wasn't enough so I... I started collecting more and more. Even if it meant going through your trash in the middle of the night." He holds his hand to one of my canvases cheeks, as if caressing me. "And I'd picture you in here, standing as you are, right now. That you would..." Hesitating, he turns to look at me, finally letting my canvases cheek go. "That you would accept this, me and... this. And yet..."

He starts walking slowly closer to me, leaving one hand tucked into his pocket, the other at his side. I notice he rubs the tips of his fingers with his thumb, as if distracted, or feeling the left-over residue of the print of my face on the canvas.

"Yet here you are." He shakes his head at me, as if confounded, as if disbelieving. "Like... what the fuck?" he asks out loud, to himself I think, his voice going lower. "Is this even truly fucking happening right now? Or is this just some... dream?"

I feel spellbound, rapt by what he's telling me. I am completely one-hundred percent absorbed, listening to his words.

"I've never been this way about anyone before." He tosses his head, still seemingly confounded by all of this. "Yet it's like... here I am, having done this, doing something so... fucking crazy."

"Your not crazy," I murmur, positive on that. If he's crazy, then what am I?

"Fifty shades," he murmurs with a tentative smile, reminding me of those words he likes to use to describe himself. "Fifty shades of fucked-upness, remember?" His eyes glisten and gloss over as he tries not to smile, and I know he's thinking of something else now. He's somewhere else. "I used to picture you in here, all of us. You, me, all the... Anabilia." He speaks like his collection is a third person. "And I'd have you, Anastasia."

"You _do_ have me," I point out, which is the truth. He so does.

"I mean, everywhere." He seems to come back down to earth again, as he meets my gaze, searching my eyes again for my reaction. "I'd think about having you, in here, on every available steady... surface."

It sinks in what he means a moment later. Oh, he doesn't mean just having me in here, okay with his collection. But...

"On the glass cabinet, stretched out."

Holy shitballs. Yes, please.

"On every wall. I thought even like... suspended up on the ceiling."

Yum.

"Full suspension bondage." He sounds so passionate, so there. "Have you up on the ceiling." He blinks slowly, those fantasies or imaginings drifting slowly from his eyes. "And it wasn't my broken ego from the disastrous breakfast," he adds, and I realize he's talking about something else now. His distance. "It was..." He stops, closing his eyes tightly, his mouth shut.

He tilts his head, downwards on an angle, like he's... afraid? He's afraid to say it? Say what, though?

"I realized I..." He swallows loudly, his eyes still closed, head stilted at the ground. "I..." He shakes his head, wincing a little. It's like he's having trouble verbalizing something. What? "I'm... sorry," he whispers, defeated after a moment. When he reopens his eyes, he actually looks in pain, like it's hurting him physically, the fact he can't get it out. "It... it's too hard right now."

What is he trying to say to me? I don't understand at all?

"Um, it's okay," I whisper, forcing a smile. "You don't need to feel you have to force anything out if your not ready, Christian, whatever it may be. What you've just told me- everything else- it..." I shake my head, now feeling like I'm the one lost for words. "Everything you just told me, it... it's beautiful. And overwhelmingly romantic."

I step closer, noticing how he's still battling to say what he wants to say. But I lift up with my hand, caressing his smooth cheek gently. He shuts his eyes again at my touch, his breathing uncontrolled. His face has started to even go red from not being able to get it out, that he can't express it. _My Precious, oooh._

"Thank you," I say, truly touched and amazed.

I am in awe of this man. This amazing, beautiful man... and his room for me, his devotion, his ultimate level of kinky-freakery. AND FOR ME!

"No one has ever... done this for me before." Of course they haven't, because... I haven't been with anyone else, there's only been HIM, he's all I want, all I'll EVER need. "It means so much to me, Christian. You cannot even begin to know how much it means."

His face is still a bit red, constrained. He so badly want to tell me something, yet clearly, it won't come out. He's... constipated, but with words.

"It's okay," I say again, and leaning up, I press my lips to his. _Mine, mine, mine. Forever mine. Only mine. Mega-Beast better back off. Mega-Beast is going down._

* * *

"Love," I hear Christian blurt out loudly in another room while I get prepared.

I frown at my reflection in confusion while fixing in my earrings.

He's been practicing saying that word as well as various others ever since we both decided to get prepared for tonight's work function. I have no idea why. Maybe he has a speech he has to say in front of his colleagues and the Mega-Beast tonight?

Inserting the last long dangling earring, I move back, running my hands down my dress nervously. I hope I look okay or good enough for tonight. I hope I'm not either under-dressed over overdressed.

"I love...," Christian mutters in the other room, practicing. I have no idea what the heck he's doing, but my ovaries go tingly at the fact even he, the great and wonderful Christian Grey, my hubby to be and dream man, gets nervous from time to time.

I eye my dress again in the mirror. It's a sleeveless shift dress, elegant and rose red in color. _The same color as the dried old smelly blood on the tampon,_ I can't help thinking to myself, and I shudder. _God, stop! The tampons gone already!_

I really think my favorite lipstick would go perfectly with the dress, but I know it's in Christian's Anabilia room. I wonder if I can sneak in and grab it? Or did he lock it up again securely? Would he be mad?

I sit down on the bed, shifting into my heels. I hope I don't fall over in front of the Mega-Beast. I need to show her whose boss, and who Christian ultimately belongs to.

If something happens tonight, I'm not sure I will be able to control myself. Hopefully I won't embarrass Christian, but I swear to God, if this woman so much as pushes herself onto him...

My dislike of this woman may be irrational, but ever since I first saw her and how close her and Christian operated to each other, I just don't like her. And he told her about his Anabilia collection too apparently. That means their rather close and comfortable with each other, right?

 _Ooh, my necklace!_

I grab it off the dresser, my Christian's necklace. I should really wear it, because it's passive aggressive, right? I can rub it in this woman's face indiscreetly. _CHRISTIAN'S. I am CHRISTIAN'S, and HE is MINE. TAKE THAT, MEGA-BEAST!_

The door floats open just as I'm struggling to put it on by myself in the mirror. I look curiously while scowling at my clumsy fingers, and then it's like all the air has left my lungs.

 _Oh my. Oh. Oh. Oh._

I spin around to stare at him, just as he stops still, like he's immobilized at the sight of me as well. He's like a groom on a wedding cake. Our wedding cake. He's wearing black suit pants, a white dress shirt, and a black jacket with a striped grey tie. It's like he's waiting for me at the alter. Mr and Mrs Grey.

I feel myself flush as his eyes roam slowly down my dress, particularly around my hip and leg area. The dress reaches just to my knees, and I got some major leg parts showing. Arm parts, too. Thank goodness I shave regularly, although it's still admittedly a jungle around my vag area. I shake my head at my stupid, wandering thoughts. God, I'm nervous. I hope I behave normally.

I force a disgusted look on my face while trying not to smile. "Creepy McCreeperson," I mutter beneath my breath. I sound too breathless, too croaky like a chain-smoker. "Haven't you heard it's impolite not to knock before entering, Mr Grey? Not to mention it's rude just gawking and staring like a creeper?"

 _Hell, he's got an entire stalker shrine room dedicated to me, and here I am, joking about staring?_

He opens his mouth, then shuts it again. Oh, no. Is he still having trouble verbalizing things like yesterday?

"You didn't tell me you had to do a speech tonight?" I prompt, helping him out. "Would you?" I hint, showing him my necklace.

Finally, it seems to get him going. "Of course." He makes himself useful, coming up behind me, helping do up the necklace he gave me. "Oh, and I'm not required to make a speech, Anastasia, fortunately. It's just going to be a rather... normal evening."

What? He's not doing a speech?

I meet his gaze in the mirror and he stares back at me, while I blink at him, confused.

"But I heard you practicing?" I don't get it at all.

When I turn around to face him head-on, he surprises me by getting down on his knees, kneeling at the front of my dress. _Um, what the heck?_ My breath hitches in my throat. _Holy shizzballs, is he proposing? Because YES! YES! TRIPLE YES!_

"A hundred times, yes," I blab out excitedly, then my stomach sinks as he stares up at me in sheer confusion, blinking slowly.

"Yes to what, Ana?"

Oh, oh no.

He starts shuffling up my dress carefully with both hands, fingers needy, eager, pushing it up over my stomach.

My chest, as well as my face, feels like it's scorching. _Trust me to misread the situation. All he's doing is doing his panty-sniffing thang for courage. Damn my over-eagerness to be his wife!_

"Uh, nothing," I murmur quickly, flushed. How embarrassing! "I was just fooling around. Sniff away."

I watch as he leans in towards my crotch, how his lips part as he inhales in deeply. Then he exhales, blowing warm, light air across my crotch, right through the underwear. The fabrics a bit thin and I can feel him, feel his moist breathes perfectly. Reaching down, I touch his hair, stroking his head gently as he breathes me in, his Anastasia-Steele-Panties-Cocaine fix.

Strands of his hair tickle my bellybutton as the tip of his nose goes right there. Then I guess he's done for now, because he leans back slowly, lifting his chin to peer up into my eyes, his alight and dancing with something like lust or sheer need.

His hair is a bit ruffled and uneven from the way I've been stroking it, and he looks a bit dazed, a bit heady from his sniffing-fix. "You look beautiful," he says, his voice tight.

"Thank you. You don't look too shabby yourself, Mr Creeperson."

He opens his mouth, about to say something else to me, and I wait for it. But then that look comes over his face again, that verbally constipated look, and frustration builds in his eyes. He ends up giving up, leaving me hanging as he curses under his breath. What the hell is it that he is trying to tell me so badly, yet can't? Did he murder someone?

Avoiding my gaze, he helps put my dress back down to rights again over my thighs. Then, as he slowly stands, he uses both hands, trailing his fingertips all the way up my arms, my shoulder blades, making me shiver. Damn, his hands feel so good touching me.

"You think your ready?" he asks.

"Ready if you are."

Stunning me, he grabs a strand of my hair, then leans in, putting it beneath his nose. He sniffs, then licks his lips, moving back. _Ah, Charlie's Angels-Thin-Man hair sniffer. Knew he couldn't stay away for too long._

* * *

I feel a little sick on the drive towards dinner. I'm not sure if it's due to nerves or just... feeling sick. I just hope I don't embarrass him tonight because I know, the instance Mega-Beast steps too far, I'll be putting her in her place.

I just don't like her. Truthfully, I don't like the thought of any woman with MY man. Christian's supposed to only be with me, we belong together. So of course, naturally I am territorial and will defend what's mine. I mean, what if she-

"What are you thinking?" Christian asks curiously next to me, disrupting my thoughts.

And surprisingly, for once, I'm not daydreaming about our potential child-to-be. "I'm nervous," I admit, keeping it short and sweet. I look over at him, hoping to look particularly vulnerable. "I'm just hoping it goes okay tonight and that these people at your work function like me."

"Most of them are kiss-asses. They like to throw their money around. It's a pissing contest." He reaches up, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. My hair mourns the loss of his fingers.

As we arrive, I realize there are photographers waiting for us. Why?

"Donald Trump and his wife are meant to be attending," Christian explains, opening the door.

 _Ah, that makes sense then._

"Mr Grey!" One of the photographer calls, and as he helps me out of the car, I'm blinding by flashing lights in my eyes. This is what it must feel like to be a celebrity being surrounded by the paparazzi. "Can we get a photo with you and your lovely lady?"

Christian wraps his hand around my waist, and then all these guys are going snap-happy, taking shots of us. It's so weird, but I cannot help feeling happy. _Ha, take that._ Hopefully we'll be in the tabloids together and every woman out there will back off. _He's mine, he isn't Mr Eligible Bachelor anymore. This beautiful, amazing man is MINE and he even has an entire room dedicated to me!_

"Your name?" a few photographers shout out at the same time as Christian starts pulling me along towards the doors of the function room by the hand.

I cannot resist. My Inner Gollum rears his ugly head, finding the closest photographers ear within earshot.

"Ana," I whisper hastily. "Ana Steele, Christian's fiancee. We're getting married next summer."

This inspires more snappy shots after that, and as Christian gets me inside, I hear my Inner Gollum cackling wickedly. _Fiancee, fiancee. Our precious is ours!_ I ought to feel terrible about what I've just done, about making a lie up to spread to all the tabloids, yet disgustingly, I feel everything beside that. I feel vindictively happy, and possessive.

In my defense, I just want to eliminate all competition, that's all. Maybe there's a reason I can feel I truly identity with Alex Forrest from Fatal Attraction after all?

Following Christian, a big room opens up extravagantly. He never told me there would be so many people here. There's around forty people in the same room right now, drinking champagne and speaking among themselves. I think I even spot Donald Trump.

Christian clamps onto my hand tightly, making sure he doesn't lose me through the crowd. People keep saying hello to him, shaking his hand, kissing or shaking mine. Most of them, I have no idea who they are. Then I spot her. The Mega-Beast.

"Christian, darling!"

I hear her voice as she calls out to him through the crowd.

She's dressed in a tight velvet dress that clings to every inch of her, her peroxide blond hair falling just below her shoulders in perfect, wavy curls. I just don't like her.

As he pulls me towards her, she's immediately all over him like a rash. Yeah, I definitely do not like her. She kisses his cheek both times while he kisses both of hers, and she's wearing expensive flashy jewelry. There's a large gigantic diamond ring on her right index finger, and a huge diamond choker necklace around her neck and cleavage line. The lady clearly likes her diamonds. She's like the Kardashian mom, except her hairs fake and dyed blond.

"Finally, you made it," she gushes as if I'm not there, as if I'm just some invisible young woman holding onto Christian's hand.

"Elena, I'd like to introduce you to Anastasia," he says formally, introducing us. "Anastasia, this is Elena."

The Mega-Beast merely looks me over with a curt nod before turning up her nose, speaking to Christian about someone else in attendance.

 _Oh, hell to the no. She did not just do that!_

He's mine, lady. You think you're free to take him?

As if my hand has its own brain, it shoots out to grab Christian's cheeks through his trousers, cupping them. _Mine, mine, mine_. It seems to draw his attention back to me perfectly. While she tries to speak to him, he turns back to look at me, raising both brows as a wide smile comes across his mouth in amusement.

Watching Elena huff, I feel my heart rise in satisfaction as she stares at me unhappily.

"Let's go get a drink," Christian says in my ear, and I arch my brows at the woman, challenging her non-verbally, my hand still cupping his butt.

As I turn to follow Christian through the crowd, I look back to see her still watching me, her cold eyes alternating between my face and the way I'm still clenching Christian's butt cheeks with my hand lovingly while he walks.

 _Beast is going down. Mega-Beast._

 _LOL I realize I'm so weird yet again for writing this story but I hope it makes you laugh nevertheless. This is Part 1 because Part 2 is going to get longer and crazier. :) We'll find out what poor Christian is struggling to say too. He's just trying to work up his courage._


	30. Chapter 30

**Hey guys. I'm so sorry for taking long to update, life has been busy and I haven't had the time I thought I would to be able to write. I've managed to write this one, but I hope it isn't too bad or boring. It's probably not as humorous as other chapters either. Sorry.**

 **Chapter 30**

 **Part 2**

With one of my hands still grasping onto _my_ man's gorgeous backside, we move towards a table where drinks are being served while the Mega-Beast is in front of us, leading the way. What did Christian say her name is? Elena? Well, personally, I think Mega-Beast is a _far better_ name to refer to her as rather than Elena.

Horrible as it may be, I find I don't like this woman already. There's just something about her- the way she ignores me as if I'm not there, the way she demands Christian's attention- that unsettles me.

Still, I'm the only one molesting his right butt cheek right now, holding on for dear life with my hand- not her. I'm the one who's wearing the CHRISTIAN'S sterling silver initial necklace that he gave me as a gift. I'm the one he refers to as his girlfriend. But despite all this, I just can't help my animosity.

There's two white-suited servers gathering up glasses of what looks like bubbly champagne to offer everyone. Christian grabs me one, handing it carefully for me while grabbing one for himself.

He lets the Mega-Beast grab her own glass. My inner Gollum likes that; the fact that he gets me a drink and me alone. My inner Gollum likes that _a lot_.

Grabbing her own glass, the Mega-Beast finally turns to acknowledge me properly while pursing her lips over her champagne glass. Her eyes drift down lower to my arm and, where my hand is, hidden behind Christian's back, still squeezing his buttocks tenderly. As her eyes dart back up to meet mine, I notice one of her thin, overly plucked eyebrows dart up.

I give her a look back as good as I can, raising my own brows in a silent challenge. Y _eah, see? Whoever you were to him, that's in the past now. Christian's all MINE, and, as you can fair well probably notice, I'm still groping his butt cheeks. He lets me do it, and you want to know why that is? It's because he's MINE and he lets me grope his butt cheeks, NOT you,_ _Mega-Beast!_

"Anastasia's agreed to be my girlfriend," I hear Christian murmur over the loud chatter in the room.

At that comment, she looks at me again. It's really hard to know what she's thinking with her look. "Well, _of course_ she did," she murmurs back, and then after taking another sip of her wine, "Who could possibly say no to you, Christian? You truly have no idea how lovable you are, do you?"

 _Lovable?_ I almost choke on the sip of my own champagne I've sucked in. _Yeah, Christian's lovable no doubts about it. But oh, the nerve she has!_

"Actually, Christian, darling." She says his name like it's candy. "I was wondering if I could have a minute alone to speak to Anastasia?"

I'm not sure who's more surprised; Me or Christian. This is going to be interesting. I'm curious to hear what she has to say to me.

"You'll be all right?" Christian asks softly, and when I glance over at him again, I realize he's directing the question to me. Why would he think I wouldn't be all right? Really, it's the Mega-Beasts well-being that I think he should be concerned about. I am _this close_ to knocking her to the floor.

I nod once, forcing a smile, my ovaries coming alive at his wary, intense look for me. They twist and curl, cooing for his babies tenderly inside of me. "I'll be fine," I say sweetly, and it's like my entire body follows, coming alive as he leans down. He kisses me on the cheek and that kiss goes straight to my vag, I may as well be honest. _That's_ just what the man is capable of doing to me.

My lady parts are singing by the time he moves his mouth to my ear, whispering in a controlled, cold voice, "Let me know if she bothers you and I'll handle it." Oh, like I can't handle my own. I am _so ready_ to put the Mega-Beast in her rightful place.

Then he leaves us, striding to a group of businessmen who eagerly shake his hand. The confidence he alludes, it's mind-blowing. He easily falls into conversation with all the men, holding his own. I so want to jump him right now, my lady parts and ovaries are certainly crying out for it. Only it's too crowded and I need to deal with Elena first.

Forcing my eyes away, I turn to look at her while swallowing a mouthful of my drink down.

"He's never had a girlfriend before," she finally speaks, standing beside me so she can probably ogle my man herself while she gossips about him. _Of course he hasn't had a girlfriend before. There can only be me, myself, and I_ "Usually he asks for my help to pick the submissive girls. He likes his brunettes."

"I'm not his submissive," I murmur, unsure to figure out what her tone is implying. "I'm just his girlfriend. Oh, and he really didn't need your help with picking me. We found each other all by ourselves." I can't help the tone of disdain in my voice.

She glances at me swiftly past her shoulder, then her beady eyes fall on Christian again. Mine do as well as he turns his head, watching us carefully. He's clearly braced and ready to come intervene if things get too messy between us, but he need not worry. _The only one going down is her._

"So how long have you two been in a relationship for now exactly?" she asks. "How long have you been his girlfriend?"

I really can't see how any of this is her business. I let my answer linger while swallowing down a few small sips of my champagne, letting the unanswered question stew in the air between us. Then I lick my lips slowly as I finally say, "I don't really see how that has anything to do with you, how long I've been his girlfriend for."

"Touche," she murmurs with a light shrug of her shoulder. "He's watching what goes on between us like a hawk."

"I know he is."

"I think he's worried about what I'm going to say to you."

"Well, he shouldn't be. I'm a big girl." I tilt my chin higher up in the air, hoping I look stronger, more fiercer. "I think I can easily handle myself."

"Good. Then I'll spare you a lengthy conversation by getting straight to the punch," Mega-Beast Elena decides smartly.

"Good decision."

"You know, that time when you left him, because of that... that 'room'..." I know immediately that the 'room' she's indirectly hinting to is his Anabilia collection room. "He came to me afterwards." My stomach curls at her words. I know he said that he saw her because she helped apparently put some things into perspective, but it still makes me feel funny, knowing that he had. "He explained everything. The... need to take your things, to create a sort of... 'shrine' of you- something so very uncharacteristic of him. I hadn't seen him that way before."

When I throw a look at the side of her face at the unnerving tone in her voice, I think I see her physically shudder as if lost back there in the memory of how he looked.

"Usually he doesn't get affected by certain things but... it's clearly different with you. You obviously mean a lot to him." She shudders again, her eyes narrow as she stares at him across the room absently. "He was extremely... broken when you left him. Frankly I've never seen him that way about a young woman before."

 _He was broken?_ My eyes move to where Christian is in the room while he speaks animatedly with the group of men, one hand still holding his glass of champagne tightly, my heart seizing painfully. _Oh, my poor baby._ While I know now that I will never run out on him ever again, it still hurts to hear her confirm just how heartbroken he was. But then why is she telling me this? Is this her way of guilt-tripping me?

"And _clearly_ , seeing you two back together now, with everything apparently fine and dandy, he looks happy," she says with a long sigh, as if she's reluctant to admit it to herself. "You must make him happy."

 _Well, of course I do. He's happy with me and I'm happy with him because we're soul mates, we belong together. This is where we're supposed to be- together, just me and him._ Like I don't already know that. Why does she feel the need to tell me this?

"He makes me happy too," I mutter, eyeing her.

"And I'm sure you already know then that he's in love with you," Elena Mega-Beast adds, waving it off dismissively with her hand, her gigantic diamond ring flashing at me brightly. "It's no doubt obvious to you."

 _What?_ My mouth hangs open at her comment as I try not to heave like an animal in heat. _She has the gall to say that Christian's in love with me when he hasn't even told me that himself?_ Of course, I've known he has to be in love with me, just as I feel I am passionately, murderously in love with him. But to hear it out loud from someone else... my stomach clenches and aches like I've just been doing a billion sit ups.

"He's never completely been in love with a woman before. I don't think he's even totally sure it's love that he's feeling himself. But I saw it there... that night when you left him, his reaction when he came to me. How... broken he was, how... obsessive he is to collect things of you. He just has... peculiar ways of showing it." She keeps babbling on like she's got some verbal diarrhea happening. "Which is only natural, I suppose, given the way he was brought up and what he experienced. His issues." A brief fond smile flickers across the Mega-Beasts Botox lips. "He doesn't think he's worthy of love, that he's... undeserving of it, that he's too... messed-up with all of his psychological issues."

It feels wrong, hearing this from her. And yet I cannot stop listening to her.

"It's obvious that you feel the same way too. _But_..." The 'but' lingers as, suddenly, she grabs onto one of my hands, holding my wrist tightly in warning. My eyes fling over to meet hers in outrage at what she's doing, her ice-cold eyes glaring back into mine with warning, " _But_... if it ever happens again and he comes to me, broken due to you, I won't hesitate to hunt you down and make you sorry. Is that understood, little girly?"

 _Little girly? Holy Satan's fiery testicles, she didn't. Oh N to the O!_

I gape at her, almost disbelieving what she's saying between the lines. Wow, she's _actually daring_ to threaten me. And to touch me in such a manner? Her eyes burn into mine fiercely, her fingers tightening over my wrist. The lady _clearly does not know_ who she is dealing with here. _Well, I'm happy to show her._

I feel it come over me. My inner Alex Forrest is unleashed, uncontrolled.

I step closer while her fingers tighten marginally over my wrist, my other fingers and hand that is holding the stem of my champagne glass shaking brutally between us.

"Firstly," I murmur in as deadly quiet a voice as possible, seething through gritted teeth, "Take your hand off me. And secondly..." A disbelieved giggle bubbles up, spilling out of my mouth at her audacity. " _Secondly_ you have no business threatening me."

She releases my wrist at once, my skin burning at after-sensation of her bony fingers squeezing into it, cutting the circulation off there.

"You think what I'm telling you is funny, little girly?" Her name for me is really starting to get on my last nerve. "You dare to laugh at such a serious conversation concerning Christian?"

I edge closer, holding her gaze again with steady, unwavering eyes. I will not show any feelings of intimidation to her, I will not back down. Really, I have no true feelings of fear or intimidation over the woman at all, nor at her threat. I'm not afraid of her.

"I'm not laughing at the subject of our conversation, believe me," I whisper to her, stink-eyeing her. And I'm known to give good stink-eye. She stares back, showing no flicker of her own fear. "I'm simply laughing at the audacity you have to unnecessarily threaten me."

My heart is pounding crazily, I'm that infuriated.

"Oh, and by the way, not that it has anything to do with you, but there _won't be any_ repercussions of me leaving Christian ever again. I'm holding on tight this time for real and I am not _ever_ , _ever_ letting go. Christian and I _belong_ together, _just me_ and _him_ , and _that's_ the way it's going to be until the very end. Just _me_ and _him_." I grit my teeth, enunciating every word slowly and carefully through them. "And seeing as you dared to threaten me, I figure it's completely warranted of me to give you a little piece of my own advice."

Elena Mega-beasts mouth drops open, then closes again in shock. She obviously wasn't expecting it. But what do they say? Never judge a book by it's cover. "Oh, do you now?" she huffs incredulously, blinking heavily at me as I get close enough with our faces that, any closer, we'd be headbutting.

"If you- or _anyone else_ for that matter- tries to come between me and Christian, then, well..." I huff under my breath loudly, speechless on how to even find the decent words, shaking my head. "Well, let's just say that there's a _whole other deep_ and _nasty_ side of me that you don't ever even want to meet. As ' _Little girly'_ as I may seem to you, there's a _whole lot more_ underneath all of this-" Here, I gesture at my dress and body "-that would send you shitting yourself if you ever came to bring it out of me. Now am _I_ making myself clear enough?"

"He's coming back," she murmurs in warning, her eyes flickering to something behind me as she swallows nervously.

"Good. Because I think we're both done here." Moving back a few steps in my heels, I place a smile on my face as I look off to where she was glancing to, my face still red.

And she's right; He _is_ coming back. Christian is eyeing the pair of us warily as he strides through the crowd, dodging a few men to get to us again. I try to appear completely normal as I keep my smile in place for him, running my eyes slowly down his suit. Damn, he looks good. I just hope the Mega-Beast heeds my own advice.

Just as he reaches us while taking my hand, the Mega-Beast excuses herself quickly, turning around to find someone else to speak to. My whole entire body relaxes the second she does.

"Did everything go okay?" he asks me, unable to hide the worry in his tone. I peer up at him to see the concern etched all over his face. He was broken when I'd stormed out all due to the Anabilia room- according to the Mega-Beast. My poor baby. "What did she want to speak to you about?"

 _Oh, crap._ I strive for an excuse. "Oh, nothing of importance," I mutter dismissively with a shrug. "Um, she just spoke about her business."

Christian's eyebrows furrow. "Her _business_?" he repeats in confusion.

"Um, yeah. I... I mean the business that you two do together. It's very... interesting." _Please don't ask me more about it,_ I plead, staring up at his precious face. _Please don't ask. Please don't._

"Hmm." A playfully thoughtful look comes across his face as he reaches over, tucking a strand of my hair back behind my ear, only after securely tucking my hair back, he leaves his hand there for some reason. I discover why when I start to feel him use the tip of his thumb.

He rubs back and forth over the curve of my ear and down towards my earlobe, making me shudder. I have no idea what he's doing, all I know is that it feels good. _Is this a new way of him being kinky freaky? What- does he now have an ear fetish too?_

"Are you enjoying yourself tonight, Mr Grey?" I bring myself to ask, shivering again. I sound too breathless and croaky.

"Not particularly, although I _am_ enjoying the sight of you in that dress." My cheeks redden.

"Ditto, Mr Grey," I murmur breathlessly, my voice too panty like I'm suddenly overcome with exhaustion. "Right back at you. I know I'm definitely enjoying the sight of you in that suit." _It makes it easier to imagine what you'll look like dressed on our wedding day..._

He runs a slow hand through his hair while his other hand keeps up with rubbing around my ear in a strangely erotic and sensual way, his eyes bright as he bites a little on his lower lip with his teeth. Dang, I so want to do that.

He better stop or else I think I'll spontaneously explode into thousand little pieces of glitter.

"I have an idea." At last he stops fingering my ear with his thumb, dropping his hand away from me.

"Oh? And what sort of idea?"

"How about you come with me?" There's something meaningful in his voice that I don't understand. What the heck? Come with him where? "But finish the rest of your champagne first. Something tells me you'll need it."

"Need it?" Although confused, I drain the rest of the bubbly liquid down my throat in less than five gulps. "Okay, all done." I put the now empty glass on the table behind me quickly. "Where do you want to go?"

He doesn't answer. All he does is hold his hand out to me, his long fingers outstretched. It's like he's tempting me with his hand alone. His gray eyes are bright, shining with something. I only figure it out once I take his hand and let him lead me through the crowd towards the exit. _Oh, of course. I think somebody wants to indulge in their pantie-sniffing fetish._

"I see straight through you, Grey," I tease as we reach through the doors, stepping outside into the cold night air. "Don't think I can't." I pull at his hand with a laugh.

Christian turns to look at me while pausing by a small group of stairs that lead down into a large garden. "What?" he asks, and since lights have lit up outside the back, I can see his face easily. He looks sincerely clueless, like he doesn't know what I'm talking about or hinting to. He's so good at this. _Dang, the man is great at his acting._ "What do you think I'm doing by bringing you out here?"

"You know exactly why," I murmur. "To fulfill your pantie sniffing fetish. It _has_ been over an hour after all. The withdrawals must be hitting you like crazy."

He runs his hand through his hair as he looks back at me, smiling. "That's part of it, I admit. But that wasn't the _only_ reason." He starts stepping down the small stairs, steering me along with him. Once we hit the grass, I learn that heels and grassy earth are definitely not a good combo. "I wanted to tell you something also, Ana," he adds, his voice breathy and low. I think he's nervous for some reason. _Shit. What's going to happen?_

An unsettling, panicked feeling settles into my stomach as I try to think of what he wants to talk about while my heels stab at the grass. He better not be the one leaving me. I so am not letting him go.

It's funny how the Mega-Beast Elena didn't scare me with her threats but something like this, the unknowing of what Christian wants to say, this _does_ terrify me.

But at least I get a small, annoying distraction from the fear of his abandonment. One of my heels slides straight through dirt, causing me to topple slightly off my feet.

"Christian, wait!" I cry out, steadying myself. He turns around on the spot to look at me, reaching out with his arms, helping me remain upright himself. "These heels aren't going to let me walk on the grass."

"Then problem solved," he murmurs, and I get what he means immediately with what he does next.

A high-pitched, surprise squeak erupts from me as, unexpectedly, Christian wraps both of his muscular arms around my waist. Seemingly without effort and like I'm light as a feather, he lifts and scoops me over his shoulder.

I'm fairly certain the dress I'm wearing has ridden up to show my ass and my panties to any spectators, but when I lift my head up from somewhere near his backside, my hair hanging around me, to my relief I can't see anyone outside around us anyway. Everyone must all be inside, enjoying talking about business while sipping their decadent glasses of champagne.

"Christian, my dress," I gasp out nervously as he starts walking again with me. "I hope no one's outside otherwise they're going to get an eyesore when they see me all exposed with my panties out and my legs!"

 _And maybe my lady garden peeking through the sides of my panties. Yeah, there's a lot of that too._ I really do need to invest in a good speedy bikini waxing session, but if Christian has any issues with a bushy jungle down there, he certainly hasn't mentioned it.

"Beautiful legs," I think I hear Christian murmur appreciatively in front of me. Then he lifts one of his hands only to hold it in place over my underwear, covering me somewhat while flexing his fingers, giving my buttocks a sort of nice yet rough massage. _Mmm. Feels good._

But that pleasure of him kneading my backside through my panties doesn't last for long, the further he strides through the lawn. It's obvious that we are really far away from the house now. There's no lights and its really dark, with only the moon illuminating our surroundings _. Why do I get the feeling that he is going to murder me, but in the most heavenly way? Then afterwards make a makeshift grave to dump my body in it?_

"Christian, where are you taking us?" I demand shakily. "And why?"

"I already told you. There's something I need to tell you."

The blood rushes to my head as I continue to bob up and down over his shoulder. I wonder what he needs to tell me though. Something bad? Utilizing my arms, I stretch them around his waist, then tighten them for something to cling onto to stop the rocking and bouncing. I hear him inhale deeply.

"What do you need to tell me? What is it? And why so far from the house where everyone is? If it's to indulge in your pantie sniffing habit then sure, I get it. But what do you need to tell me?"

I can only sigh in deep relief as Christian at last sets me down carefully onto my feet near a huge, tall tree. I steady myself against it, resting my shoulder on the rough bark while panting heavily. I can only just see him in the faint light of the moon; He's breathing heavily himself, one hand resting in his hair as he rubs the other over his suit jacket repetitively. Why is he so nervous about what he's about to tell me?

Sure, he may have an Anabilia room dedicated to me; which had my bloody tampon in it before he threw it out, frizzy loose hairs from my hairbrush, my toothbrush. Any normal and sane person would be terrified of that, maybe even sickened, yet... nothing terrifies me and sickens me more than not being able to tell what he wants to tell me.

"Christian, you are really freaking me out right now. Can you please just tell me already?" I plead, uncaring how scared and frail I truly sound. "If your bringing me out here isn't just to do with you sniffing my panties, then... _what_?"

When he doesn't say anything, just stares at me in the darkness while breathing heavily, I lean off the scratchy thick trunk of the tree for a second while extending out both arms, coaxing him closer. My inner Gollum cackles in glee at his precious as he gives in, dropping his hand from his hair and reaching out, grasping both of my hands in his.

For some reason, his hands are actually shaking, I discover. That makes it even worse. _No, no. He can't leave me. He can't leave or break up with me. Holy shit-balls, is that what he's intending to talk about? Breaking up?_

It can't be a good sign, if even his hands are shaking. Something bad is coming, I know it is.

"Christian, your hands are trembling," I whisper, horrified. "Why?"

My inner Alex Forrest breaks loose yet again at the realization, my hands releasing his. Instead, desperately, they reach out to touch everywhere, around his jacket, rubbing him down. Then his neck, into his soft, beautiful hair. Then finally, his face. Gently, I run both hands down the shape of his forehead.

 _Precious, oooh. Precious. He can't leaves us,_ my inner Gollum wails as I trace my fingers down his cheeks, around his stubbly chin. _The Precious can't leaves._ I glance up at his face, lightly lit in the moonlight. I can see his eyes are closed, and his mouth is slightly parted as he breathes shakily, reveling in my facial caressing. But what the fudge does he need to say? What?

"I've been working hard to say this all week," he at last begins to speak, his voice unsteady, nervous.

"Working hard to say what, Christian? Just tell me!"

"I need you to know that...what you told me..." He swallows thickly as he reopens his eyes, them glistening down at me. I realize he's doing that thing he did earlier. How he was obviously struggling to say something to me. How constipated he is with words, my poor baby.

"What I told you? What exactly in particular, Christian?"

He takes a deep breath while reaching over, cupping my own face gently in his hands while he allows me a field day in still touching his, caressing, stroking. As if steeling himself, he exhales out deeply, then says firmly, breathing into my lips, "Anastasia, just as you said, _before_ , the feelings mutual. It just... took me a while to understand it all, but I realize it now."

I pause from brushing the backs of my knuckles against his cheeks, startled. Mutual? But what is-

"I am obsessively..." The instance it starts to come out of his mouth, I feel my heart drop. I'm frozen, speechless, as he drops his hands from my face, only to fall down to his knees on the grass before me, resting them on both sides of my shins, kneeling in between my legs.

 _Oh, holy cheese sticks. Holy brother from another mother. Those three words!_ He's about to say those three freaking words that I've daydreamed, wished for, hoped for to hear from him for so long even before we first met and I only saw him on television!

I swallow compulsively as he lifts his head to peer up at me while he uses his hands. Slowly, he places them on the back of my heels, then starts to bring them upwards. The first instance his warm fingertips brush and glide against my skin, I arch higher uncontrollably, a shaky inhale escaping me.

"Passionately..." he murmurs hoarsely as he guides them further up until both hands go beneath my dress. "Murderously." Lifting up onto his knees, he stands on them, grazing his hands over the waistband of my panties, then even higher. As he goes to run his hands up my bare navel through the dress, he has to lean closer, his chin coming to rest on my stomach.

I know I'm going to cry. Already my eyes are building up with tears, a frog in my throat as I try to control my emotions at such a dream coming true. Tentatively, I drop my arms, letting my hands fall and rest on the top of his head, my fingers burrowing through and into his hair like a monkey combing through anothers fur for any mites or fleas to gobble up greedily.

He strokes the tip of his nose into the fabric of my dress, panting heavily. The fabric of the dress is so sheer that I can feel him, the warmth of each ragged breath he takes, heating me up. Then he rests his forehead flat against it, his breathing still unsteady and labored. He runs his hands back down my dress, following the outline of my legs, and Jesus. Even although we're outside and I'm leaning against the rough bark on a tree trunk, I am sweltering hot.

We're outside, in the dark with the evening air faintly blowing across my skin, and yet, I am so hot. I'm assuming it's all him though. It must be purely a Christian Grey thing. He affects my body temperature _that bad_ , I feel like I'm in early menopause with hot flushes and a sweaty vag.

It feels like he's worshiping me, like I'm a Goddess and he's my faithful devoted slave. It takes my breath away.

Reaching the bottom of my ankles and my heels, he brings up his hands again, caressing me over the dress this time. Smoothing the fabric over my hips with his warm palms, his needy fingers.

He lifts his chin a little higher, until his eyes shine up at me, glistening back at me in the moonlight. "In love with you," he finishes, and I hear him swallow out of sheer anxiety. "I am obsessively, passionately, murderously in love with you, Anastasia Steele. The feelings completely mutual."

I gasp out loud, my heart singing a song of joy. _Holy shit. Those three words! He said them back!_

Suddenly, I recall him this afternoon while getting ready. Overhearing him with what I assumed was his 'speech'. 'Love', he had kept saying to himself. I'd thought he'd been rehearsing a speech for tonight and yet, it was him practicing saying he'd loved me all along all because he was nervous of not getting it right?

I suddenly burst out laughing breathlessly at my own stupidity, then cough as I choke on my own saliva. How silly I'd been. The fact that he was so apprehensive to tell me, it's so... beautiful. So touching.

"Oh my god," I heave out, spluttering as tears trickle down my cheeks. "I thought you were practicing a speech for tonight!" A tear must fall and plop down onto his face, because he recoils suddenly in alarm.

"Are you... crying?" he whispers, sounding astounded by the fact that I am. "Or is it starting to rain out here?"

"Nope, it's all me," I admit, sniffling loudly. Embarrassed, I dash my tears away hurriedly. Why do I have to cry like a baby? "I'm sorry. I just..." I bite down on my lip, overwhelmed as I shake my head down at him. "I've just been waiting for you to say that for so long! I love you too!" _Love is a little bit of an understatement, I guess. More like I'm utterly hooked, chained, and captivated by him._

"And I want you to move in with me."

Apparently he isn't done with the surprises. I stiffen against the trunk at his next words, overwhelmed with disbelief. It's too much. All too much.

Holy fudge balls. Move in with him?

For a moment there, I assume I've only just hallucinated him telling me that. It wouldn't be the first time. "What? Did you, um... just say that you want me to..." I'm babbling incoherently, my mind not able to think a single coherent thought at the blissful surrealness of it all.

"Move in with me, yes," Christian murmurs, his voice like a raspy plea.

Holy crap. I was not expecting that. Two things in one night... Overwhelming. I feel like I can't breathe. He may as well be proposing to me.

"Move... _move in_ with you?"

"Yes."

"Like... in your, um, house?"

"Yes."

"Your... your penthouse? Like we're... a couple that, um... lives together?" My mind is still struggling to process it.

"Yes, Anastasia." Oops, I think I hear a tinge of frustration in his voice as he begins moving his hands again, slowly trailing them up and down my hips through the dress. "Yes, _exactly_ like that. Well done."

I'm so glad the moonlight is rather dim as a feral, wide grin comes across my mouth. _Oh, my god! This is literally what dreams are made of!_

But as good as it all sounds, suddenly I'm overcame with fear. _Oh, no._ What if I accidentally burp or fart in front of him? What if he realizes I sweat a lot on my feet and that they sort of get smelly at times? Not that he minded sniffing my day-old socks, of course. But _still_. You can't hide all your fatal flaws when you live with the man of your dreams, can you?

"But... but what if we drive each other crazy?" I mutter out loud. "Or what if I... I do something that you find out annoys you?" Like the lingering stench of my sweaty feet stinking out his penthouse after a very long and exhausting day. "Or what if we argue over who used the last of the toilet paper?"

I realize I'm overthinking it all, being paranoid, because I hear Christian sigh in exasperation.

"Look, Anastasia, there's no... pressure. If you aren't comfortable with the idea, then just tell me. I won't get offended."

"Oh, no!" I blurt out when I realize he's misunderstood me completely. Crap, I hope I haven't offended him now. "It isn't that I don't-"

"-I just want to wake up next to you," he explains, cutting me off quickly. "I just... I want to wake up before you and watch you while you sleep." _Aww._ My heart skips a beat. "And I want to be able to secretly watch you from afar. When you make yourself breakfast... when you shower...make the bed." I'm so distracted by what he's telling me that I don't even notice his hands have returned back beneath my dress until he lifts it up, slowly, tantalizingly, above my underwear. "I want to smell you all around the house, in every single room." His words- they are so hot, like foreplay. "I want to steal dirty pairs of your underwear from our laundry basket when you're not looking. Most of all, I want you in the Anabilia room."

Too much. I can't take it anymore. It's excruciating.

"Yes," I murmur, and he stops talking abruptly, his mouth dropping open. _Ha, he wasn't expecting that! Go me!_ "Yes, I will move in with you, Christian!"

Touching the top of his head again, his silky hair, I slide my hands down until I'm caressing the shape of his skull, his beautiful face.

"I want _that_ , too! _All_ of that!"

Rising to his feet and dropping the bottom of my dress, he wraps his arms around me tightly and, next thing I know, he's kissing me. Happily, joyfully. Passionately. As I kiss him back while gliding my hands up and down his cheeks, stroking his warm skin, I realize it's real and then I'm overwhelmed all over again.

Even as he pushes me up against the trunk again, my back scraping painfully against the rough bark to the point where I feel like I'm going to have grazes and bloody skin later on, it's like a mind-blowing revelation.

Oh my.

Both of us clearly lost in our excitement, Christian reaches down between us with his hand, undoing the zipper on his trousers and then unbuttoning the lone button on his dress pants, dropping his trousers and getting himself out. As he stops kissing me and moves back an inch, I help him out speedily, yanking down my panties past my thighs while at the same time urgently lifting up the end of my dress so it won't get in the way of us.

Licking my lips while trying not to beam too over-eagerly, I glance over at him, the moon offering just enough light to see he's got an erection already while his pants dangle around his shoes. Oh, wow. Flitting my gaze up to meet Christian's, I see a faint distinctive glow to his eyes as he breathes shakily through parted lips.

"I... I want you," I whisper desperately, parting my legs for him. "I want you, Christian. _Badly_ and right now."

And he's all too happy to give me what I want.

I squeeze my eyes shut, gritting my teeth to stifle my cries of discomfort as he moves to stand with his legs in between mine. Reaching down without warning, he grasps the back of my thighs tightly, then helps me, lifting them up, guiding me along so that I clench them around his waist. It isn't exactly comfortable, having my back pressing into the rough bark behind me, but hey?

What's pleasure without a little pain?

"Fuck, your beautiful," he whispers as finally he fills me, his Little Christian and my Lady Ana Garden getting well reacquainted at last. He keeps his tight grip on my thighs, keeping my legs around him while I bring my arms up, clasping them around his neck. "In the moonlight, your pale skin glows."

"Ditto, Mr Grey," I whimper back as, without warning, he eases out, then in again, thrusting inside me. "Shhh-it," I hiss out through gritted teeth at the sharp sting of my back grazing against the bark. Yet it's all so confusing. With each sharp sting, there's also this amazing spike of pleasure while Christian thrusts inside me. The pleasure just barely overrides the pain. "F-faster," I beg raggedly. "Christian, p-p-please. I need you to-"

He cuts off my impassioned pleas with his mouth, kissing me.

We swallow each other's grunts and groans as he shifts slightly against the tree, making himself go somehow deeper, faster. My legs begin to shake uncontrollably, his fingers tightening into my thighs in a bruising hold. I can feel myself already almost there. It's not going to take long at this rate with how fast he's going.

With one last thrust, we come undone at the same time, Christian cursing under his breath as he rests his head beneath my chin and throat; Me, coming undone as I grip onto his shoulders for dear life, something wet and sticky on the back of my dress.

"Oh, Christian," I murmur weakly, cupping the back of his head as he lays against my chest, his hair damp, skin moist and sweaty.

"Ana," he mutters back, sounding just as drained and tired himself.

He's like my baby while I'm his Momma as I stroke his hair while he still holds me up against the trunk, my legs dead with pins and needles. The amazing orgasm has made me lose all sensation in them; They keep flopping wildly, my feet having little spasms in the heels like they're possessed. It's really lucky he's holding me otherwise they'd be going all over the place.

Letting my head fall back against the trunk, it's then I see them past his shoulder. My cheeks redden as my breath hitches in my throat.

A few members of this work function have decided to come outside and get some air. Either that or look at the garden. Crap, I hope we weren't too loud?

"Um, Christian?" I whisper nervously.

"Yeah, baby?"

"Um, we've got company." Drowsily, he lifts his head off my chest to glance up at my face. Then he hears the voices the same time as I do, from about a few meters away, and his head whips around quickly. "Do you think they heard us?" I ask in a low voice as I watch three men begin walking around the grass.

"Your guess is as good as mine. But who gives a fuck if they see us?"

"Um, _I_ do actually. And I'm sure that, um, it wouldn't reflect very well on people's opinions of the Head CEO, being caught in an uncompromising position with his girlfriend against a tree."

Although neither of us really want to, Christian gently sets my legs down back onto the ground. He helps me pull my underwear back up, and then he reaches down, putting his Little Christian away and properly constrained in his trousers.

When I push off the trunk, I hiss, unprepared for the sting as the cool air meets it.

"You okay?" Christian asks me,, outstretching his hand for me to take. It's only when I gladly take it and we begin walking does he see it. "Fuck, Ana!" he cries out in horror, stilling me by the shoulder. "Baby, your bleeding and the back of your dress is torn?"

"I think the trunk of that huge ass tree is to blame for that," I murmur, biting my lip down to staunch my pain as Christian gently touches a few wet-feeling places with his fingers.

"Well, that explains it." Although it's dark, Christian shows me his knuckles. I can only just see the skin scraped off them, the shiny bits of blood. "I wondered why my knuckles were strangely sore and my knees felt as though I'd rubbed them with a cheese grater. Now I know why."

"Yeah, up-against-a-tree sex is maybe a little too bloody. More kinky freaky, _less_ bloody next time."

Christian takes hold of my hand as we walk leisurely back up to the building. As we get inside, now in the light, I realize how bad we really do look. Christian's hair is all ruffled and messy, while mine is too.

Sometime during the thrusting Christian had copped a light dusting of dirt around his forehead and a smear of it on his nose. His knuckles on both hands are torn open and bleeding, while as he shows me to a mirror, my dress is torn and I've got bloody scratches all over my shoulders and red inflamed skin.

But all the pain, the scratches and dirt and bleeding, it's _so worth_ it.

Because he loves me. My dream man, my soul mate, the future sperm father of my children, he loves me. And not only that but we're moving in together!

 **So sorry for taking so long to update. I do hope you enjoyed this chapter? I feel a bit rusty so it probably isn't as humorous in tone like normal but at least Christian finally said what he said and also asked Ana to take the next step with him. ;)**

 **Also, this is not the end of Elena. Ana still doesn't know all about his past with her (or that it's Elena that did what she did to him). I would love to know your thoughts. And again, I'm very, very sorry. I hope this isn't a let down.**


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